THE DOG STAR
by Nightvision55
Summary: AU - Brian is a partner in Vangard, a company specialising in taking care of visiting celebrities. He's not happy when he's assigned to keep the hottest new star at Gary Sapperstein's nightclub out of trouble ... but are things as they really seem?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note_

Okay, so I haven't published anything for a while - heavy RL issues got in the way, as always. I normally post a couple of times a week but this will probably be slower, so don't panic if it takes me longer than usual to get the next part up. I'm hoping that finishing this fic will kick-start me into getting the others done, too!

As to why Brian hasn't got a son in this one, I guess it's because I always felt Brian agreeing to be a father seemed kind of bizarre to me, considering how anti-family he was. So since this is an AU and I can take liberties, I have.

Everyone else will probably find their way into the story, eventually.

* * *

THE DOG STAR

"_Say it!"_

_The voice is thick, desperate. He hates it as much as the searing pain of the lash on his buttocks, the even crueller bite of leather against the sensitive skin of his thighs. Almost as much as he hates the tears he can't disguise, the way his chest hitches with every blow. "No," he manages to get out, and he wishes he could make his voice sound defiant instead of the pathetic whimper which is all he can manage._

"_You fucking will, you little whore!"_

_The lash falls harder, faster, and he tries to remind himself that Gary actually likes his pale, flawless skin and would be really, really pissed with himself if he caused any lasting damage. It doesn't help ease his current situation though, and he listens to the increasingly ragged gasps coming from behind him and prays it won't take much longer._

_It doesn't. He gives a sob of relief as he hears Gary moaning and cursing with pain as he jacks off, and he feels a quick flash of bitter joy to know that the bastard is paying almost as high a price for release as _he_ is. Then the hot splash of cum lands across his ass and lower back, thick and disgusting as it trickles slowly down his abused skin, and he shudders._

_Some think he's called Sirius because Sirius is the brightest, most beautiful star in the firmament and so is he. Some say it's because he's every bit as cold and distant. But he knows he chose the name because Sirius is the Dog Star, and that's all he is. Gary Saperstein's toy poodle._

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

"Brian," Gardner Vance said, his heavy face wreathed in a genial and yet shark-like grin. "Come in. Take a seat. May I offer you a drink? Coffee? Or brandy?"

I considered him warily. A jovial Vance usually meant he was about to spring a surprise … one that he was pretty certain I wasn't going to enjoy. As senior partner he always seemed particularly gleeful about discomfiting me, while I made it a point of honour never to let him see that I was rattled. "No thanks," I replied, settling myself into the plush leather chair and raising my eyebrows at him casually, determined not to hand him the psychological advantage by speaking first.

I didn't have long to wait.

"You know Gary Saperstein?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I've run into him a couple of times. Can't say I enjoyed the pleasure."

Vance placed his hands on the grey folder lying on the desk before him and laced his fingers together. "That's unfortunate," he said, smiling thinly. "Because he wants to employ _Vangard_."

I blinked. _Vangard_ was Vance's brainchild: the company offered a range of services to anyone wealthy enough to afford it, all tailored to the client's personal requirements. If you were the manager of a touring rock band, TV celebrity or sport star and you needed security, accommodation or even a venue for your pampered charges then _Vangard _could arrange it, from chefs to cater for their specialist diets to personal trainers to keep them in tip-top condition. I had joined them three years ago from _Ryders_ advertising agency to head up the marketing side of the company and had only recently made partner: I'd put together a complete package for Cindy Lauper when she played at the Ironmen's Stadium which had so impressed her that Vance had offered me a junior partnership on the spot.

I'm pretty sure he's regretted that fit of misguided enthusiasm ever since.

Gary Saperstein was a relative newcomer to the Pittsburgh social scene: he had arrived from New York a few years ago, surprising everyone by buying a run-down warehouse on the south bank of the Monogahela and then spending a considerable fortune on redeveloping it into a nightclub cum restaurant, the _Starlight, _with a luxury penthouse for himself on top. Nobody knew if he'd used his own funds or if he had a rich backer to finance the project but there was no denying Saperstein had invested wisely, because the_ Starlight_ had rapidly become one of the most exclusive and popular clubs in Pittsburgh. Other than that I knew little about the man, and what I did know I didn't like: he was obnoxiously arrogant, had a taste for nubile boys, a bad coke habit and appalling dress sense. I'd seen him a few times at Babylon: a short, sharp-featured man with lank, thinning hair, unremarkable except for his lurid shirts and tacky jewellery, surrounded by a fawning train of tweaked youthful sycophants. An air of sleaziness seemed to cling to him like a bad smell despite his undoubted wealth, and I had christened him 'the Sap' on the spot. I wasn't in any hurry to extend our acquaintanceship.

"Why would Gary Saperstein need us?" I asked.

Vance didn't answer immediately; he opened the folder, took out what looked like a publicity photo and slid it across the desk. "Have you heard of this lad?"

The boy was beautiful, no getting away from it: blond hair falling in soft waves almost to his shoulders, pale, flawless skin shaded by high cheek bones, lusciously bowed lips parted in a slight pout. The photograph was in black-and-white except for the boy's eyes, which were of a shade of blue that I regretfully decided could only have been generated by a computer. Their colour was repeated in the font slashed across the bottom of the photo: _SIRIUS_. As a publicity shot it was excellent: given the boy's evident youth and regular features the effect could have been saccharine-sweet had the kid been smiling; instead he was looking out at the viewer with an almost haunting gravity. My eyes were drawn constantly back to the blue gaze, and to the intensity of the expression in them. I glanced back at Vance.

"What's his name?"

Vance flicked a finger at the photo. "As it says … Sirius." He pronounced it _sirrus._ "You know … the Dog Star?"

"I'm aware. What are his parents, New Age hippies?"

"I have no idea if he was christened that way or if it's a stage name, but it's the only one he goes by, apparently." Vance put his head on one side and studied me. "It seems that Mr. Saperstein discovered the lad singing in an amateur talent contest and has spent considerable time and money grooming him for stardom. Sirius is now the biggest attraction at the_ Starlight,_ and Mr. Saperstein is anxious to keep it that way."

Yeah, I could just imagine the kind of 'star quality' the Sap would be likely to recognise, and hell would freeze over before I'd pay good money to listen to it. But this Sirius kid was exactly the type of pretty twink the Sap preferred, so I figured I could guess the sort of grooming the sleazeball would have used on him – it made me wonder about the parents who were prepared to let their son sell his body just to get a chance of becoming the next Justin Bieber, because I doubted the boy was of legal age. Fortunately it wasn't up to me to judge them. I frowned at Vance.

"And how is that anything to do with _Vangard?_"

Vance sat back and sighed. "It seems young Sirius can be quite a handful, despite his angelic appearance. He's apt to go off the rails if he's not supervised … he's already been involved in a couple of unsavoury incidents, and since Mr. Saperstein has a business trip to Philadelphia coming up he wants somebody completely trustworthy to keep an eye on the lad while he's out of town."

I rolled my eyes. "Jesus, how much trouble can someone who looks about twelve get in?"

"Actually he's eighteen. Old enough to get married, vote or join the army." Vance smiled fleetingly. "I've heard the boy sing, Brian … I must admit he has an extraordinary talent. I can understand why Mr. Saperstein wouldn't want his investment ruined by a few youthful indiscretions."

I thought that the idea of his toyboy spreading his favours around the moment the Sap's back was turned was the more likely reason for his concern, but again, it wasn't my business. "He needs a babysitter for his little princess, does he? Well, that's no problem … I'll have Cynthia pick some reliable people…"

"Mr. Saperstein doesn't want just anyone, Brian," Vance interrupted smoothly. "He wants you … and only you."

I found my mouth hanging open and closed it hurriedly. "What?" I snapped, despite my best efforts to keep both my surprise and anger in check. "Me? Fuck off, Gardner. I'm a partner now, remember? I don't do shit like that anymore than you do. That's what we have employees for!"

Vance was wearing his patient expression but I could still see the amusement in the fucker's eyes. "I think we can make an exception in this case, considering the fee Mr. Saperstein is willing to part with in order to ensure his protégé doesn't find himself in any more … shall we say, embarrassing situations."

I clenched my fists. "I don't care how much he's paying, I've got better things to do than to run around after some pretentious kid wiping his snotty nose for him!"

"Actually, you haven't," Vance replied coolly. "I shouldn't have to remind you that you are only the junior partner … and that I still have the right of executive decisions."

He gave me a moment to reflect before adopting a more conciliatory tone. "Come, Brian, let's not fall out over this. At the most it will only be for a few days. Plus I can guarantee full expenses and a generous bonus as recompense for your time."

I glared at him. "So, what? I'm supposed to take this kid around, keep him amused, that sort of thing?" I had a nightmare vision of trailing around the Pitts after a spoiled, wilful brat bent on getting his ass jailed.

"Well, yes … partly. The lad's not under house arrest or anything. But it seems he's quite adept at giving people the slip, so Mr. Saperstein expects you to keep an eye on him at all times. To which end you'll be staying in the guest suite at the _Starlight_, with full use of all facilities, of course."

My eyebrows shot up. "The kid _lives_ with Saperstein?" I'd never heard it mentioned that the Sap was in a relationship, and he certainly never acted like he was. I'd never spotted the kid amongst his entourage either.

"Mr. Saperstein's personal arrangements aren't my concern, Brian. All I know is that the lad lives at the _Starlight._"

"But Saperstein's got his own employees_,_" I objected. "Why can't he delegate one of them to babysit for him?"

"Because he doesn't trust them to," Vance said simply. "Mr. Saperstein might be gay, but he runs a straight club and his employees are straight. From what he tells me Sirius isn't popular with them, or they with him. Mr. Saperstein feels someone of a similar sexual orientation might have a better chance of striking up a rapport with the lad."

"Just a minute." This whole idea was getting weirder and weirder. "If Saperstein knows anything about me at all, he knows about my reputation and the kind of clubs I hang out in. So why the fuck would he trust _me_ to move in with his hot little piece of ass? _I_ wouldn't, if I were in his shoes."

I had the pleasure of seeing a small flush of embarrassment creep up Vance's cheeks. "Mr. Saperstein is fully aware of your lifestyle, Brian. In fact, he feels that it uniquely qualifies you as a companion, because the lad will find it very difficult to pull the wool over your eyes. You know what to look out for. As for not trusting you, Mr. Saperstein has done his research. He knows that above all you are a professional, and would never allow your personal leanings to interfere with a business arrangement. He knows that you don't fuck the clients."

Well, he had that right. I don't … not ever, no matter how great the temptation. Fortunately in this case I didn't think I'd be tempted very much: sure the kid was hot, if you liked that sort of thing, but I'd never found blond chicken that much of a turn on. And even if I had, spoilt wannabee celebrities with an abysmal taste in sugar daddies always made my dick soft.

Vance reached over and removed the kid's photo from my hand. He replaced it in the folder and passed the whole thing back to me. "Mr. Saperstein has supplied a short profile about Sirius for you. Just a few personal details so that he won't be a total stranger … likes, dislikes, that sort of thing. I suggest you take a look at it before this evening."

"This evening?"

"Yes. You're to be Mr. Saperstein's guest at the _Starlight …_ you can have a meal and catch Sirius' performance before you meet him."

Great. Friday night at a straight nightclub in the scintillating company of The Sap, being serenaded by his toyboy sensation. I couldn't wait. I stood up, holding the folder loosely at my side.

"Oh, Gardner …"

He raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

"That bonus you mentioned … it had _better_ be generous. Very generous."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note_

_I should probably point out that this fic is almost exclusively Brian's POV, so you'll have to work out what's going on the same way he does._

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

"How's the steak, Brian?" Saperstein sucked in a forkful of linguini and I tried not to stare at the dribble of clam sauce on his chin. Fortunately I was able to distract myself by staring at the ludicrous gold medallion hanging round his neck instead. He was wearing a heavy gold chain bracelet on his left wrist too, and a clunking gold Rolex on his right. I shuddered.

"Excellent," I replied, lifting my gaze to his face. "My compliments to your chef." It was true; the filet mignon was rare and tender, served with a baby leaf salad dressed with black olives and crumbled gorgonzola. "The wine is very good too." Unfortunately neither justified the eye-watering prices the restaurant was charging for them.

Saperstein turned and clicked his fingers at the waiter, who was trying to balance the delicate task of keeping an eagle eye on his boss whilst not appearing to hover. "Another Cabernet Sauvignon for Mr. Kinney."

The young man hurried to refill my glass; I had the impression that all of Saperstein's staff were used to being treated like dogs, so as he bent close I murmured a thank you and he rewarded me with a quick smile of surprise. He was nearly as toothsome as the dinner, but unfortunately my gaydar didn't react at all.

In fact it hadn't pinged once since I walked in the place.

The_ Starlight _wasn't the kind of club I'd normally be seen dead in. Saperstein had certainly spared no expense on the quality of the fixtures and fittings but the garish twenties décor and lighting definitely wasn't my thing, and neither was the clientele: middle-aged breeders for the most part celebrating birthdays or anniversaries, affluent and educated but pretentious as fuck. I glanced around at my fellow diners gushing about their over-priced courses and immediately decided I'd make arrangements to have my future meals delivered upstairs to the penthouse.

"So, Mr. Saperstein …"

"Please, call me Gary," he interrupted with an ingratiating smile, and I wondered idly why he didn't spend some of his wealth on a good orthodontist.

"Gary," I agreed easily. "Perhaps you'd better tell me about Sirius."

He frowned, fork halfway to his mouth. "I gave Gardner a profile for you to look at. Haven't you read it?"

I smiled back. "Oh yes. I know he's eighteen, his birthday is 2nd November, he likes Thai and Italian and hates sports, and he loves children and animals. I'm sure he's also concerned about poverty in the third world and promoting international peace, but none of that information is likely to be of much use to me." I folded my hands and looked him squarely in the eye. "Let's cut to the chase. Sirius is living here, with you. So, Gary, are you employing me to look after your investment or your lover? Or rather, what are you more worried about? His reputation or his ass?"

His face had darkened to an interesting shade of purple and I covered my smirk with my napkin as I wiped my lips. Oh, I was enjoying jerking the creep's chain. "You're being fucking impertinent!" he snapped, loudly enough to draw a worried glance from our loitering waiter.

"Not at all," I replied smoothly. "I was given to understand that you'd requested me personally because you wanted someone you could trust to keep an eye on the kid. Gardner informed me that you're managing Sirius and you're afraid he might jeopardise his future career if he's left unsupervised. Now, unless you're lying about his age, Sirius is an adult, not a child. Presumably he's not physically handicapped or insane. So if you're unwilling to leave him alone for even a few days, I must assume either he has an addiction issue or that you're an incredibly jealous man." I gave him a bland smile. "So which is it? Do I need to keep your boy from sniffing funny white powder and sticking needles in his arm, or do I have to watch him every time he goes for a piss in case he grabs a quick blow job?"

He obviously wasn't used to people speaking their minds and I could see how close he was to telling me to fuck off. Part of me was willing him to say it: I truly didn't want anything to do with this set up, Vance be damned, and at that moment I'd have walked out of Gary Saperstein's club with a light heart. But he controlled himself with an effort and nodded instead. "You're very direct, Brian," he said, trying to sound earnest but only managing condescending. "That's one of the things I admire about you."

"I'm pleased to hear it," I replied dryly. "However, you're not answering my question."

"I can't see that it's relevant."

"I can assure you it is. I can hardly look out for Sirius if I don't know _what_ I'm supposed to be looking out for. And if he decides to go and get a fix or a trick, how exactly do you expect me to stop him? I'm not a cop."

Something seemed to shift deep in his dark, ferrety eyes, something furtive and sly. "Sirius won't trick," he replied confidently. "We have an … arrangement. He won't fuck around while I'm gone. I trust him that far."

"Okay. So that leaves the other option. Which is it, drugs or booze?"

"He doesn't have a habit, if that's what you mean."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "I hear a 'but' in there somewhere. I assume this is to do with the 'incidents' Gardner described … are we talking police involvement?"

Saperstein shrugged casually. "He's been picked up a few times drunk and disorderly. Just kid stuff. And once he was arrested for criminal damage, but that was a misunderstanding and the charges were dropped."

Lie. More likely he'd paid the guy off. "Well, none of that sounds too disastrous," I said aloud, mimicking his off-handedness. "I don't understand your concern."

Saperstein toyed with his wine glass, watching me intently before evidently coming to a decision. "Brian, I've been involved in the entertainment business all my life. I managed clubs and bars in San Francisco and New York before I came here, and I know exactly what the public like and how much they're prepared to pay for it. The _Starlight's _big now, but it's going to get a lot bigger - and Sirius is going to make sure of that, because he's star material." He paused as the waiter came to collect our empty plates before leaning his elbows on the table and continuing. "I came across him a couple of years ago, when he was still at High School. I was judging a charity talent contest ... you know, full of the usual wannabe losers with fuck-all talent … and I'm sitting clapping and smiling with the rest of the morons, bored out of my skull and wishing I was anywhere else but there, when along comes this skinny blond kid looking like he'd just stepped out of a Sear's Catalogue. But Christ, he was pretty! An ass you'd kill for and skin like fucking porcelain. So I thought, who cares if he can sing or not? The evening had just got a whole lot better." He leered at me and winked. "There's nothing like a little fresh chicken, right, Brian?"

I managed a smile, willing myself not to stab him with my bread knife.

"Well, it turned out he _could _sing … he could sing like a fucking angel. And not only that … the kid had this kind of magic over the audience, you know what I mean? Young as he was, he _played _them, like it was natural. He had them eating out of his hand … they went fucking nuts when he finished and I thought, that kid's going to be famous if they find someone to handle him right."

"And you figured that someone would be you?"

"Damn right! Who wouldn't want to discover a future star? A Streisand or a Sinatra? Christ, I've always dreamed of it. I'd be made for life!"

_Fucking parasite,_ I thought grimly. "So you signed him up then and there?"

Saperstein shook his head. "I told you, he was still in High School. I introduced myself to his parents - tight-assed, middle-class snobs, both of them. Particularly the father … he owned the family company so he could afford to put the kid through some fancy private college. When Sirius started showing an interest in music his old man paid for guitar lessons and a singing coach, but he acted like it was a kind of hobby, not a serious talent. There was no way a son of his was going into show business, he made that very clear. The kid's SAT score was 1500, for fuck's sake! As far as he was concerned Sirius was going to major in business studies at Dartmouth so that he could help run the company. But I'd made sure Sirius had my business card; he called me, we met up a few times and talked. He knew how much talent he had and he wasn't going to waste it scratching his ass in his old man's board room. So as soon as he turned eighteen he quit school and moved in with me, and we started working on the shit he really needed to know. Like the image we wanted to project and the kind of material that would work best with it."

"That must have pleased his parents," I murmured.

Saperstein waved his hand dismissively. "His old man disowned him. Sirius hasn't had contact with them since. Not that it matters … he turned out to be every bit as good as I thought he would be." He smiled complacently. "Now he's contracted to work for me and me only, and his voice is going to take me and my club right to the very top."

"So if everything's so peachy, what's his problem?" I asked.

Saperstein put on his 'serious' expression. "Maybe I pushed him a little too far, too fast. I sometimes forget he's just a kid and doesn't have any idea of the sacrifice and dedication needed to make it in this business. He's a teenager, for fuck's sake, and sometimes he gets … a little pissy. it's not like he has any friends of his own age to let off steam with, so every once in a while he tries to kick over the traces. What he doesn't understand is that once he gets famous - and believe me, he _will _be famous - then every little fuck-up he's ever made is going to come back and bite him in the ass."

"How about the fact that he's gay?" I asked. "Or is he supposed to keep that under wraps too?"

Saperstein laughed. "Believe it or not, it's one of his greatest attractions, at least as far as the dames are concerned. They look at his face, they listen to his voice, and they just fucking melt. The older ones want to mother him and the young ones want to convert him. If he was straight he'd get more action than _you _do. And their husbands don't mind because he's no threat to them … it's not as though he's likely to piss on _their_ turf."

I leaned back and studied him. "So why don't you take him with you? Give the kid a break from all the sacrifice and dedication and let him have some fun for a change?"

Again that little shift in his eyes. "I'm going to be pretty tied up with meetings in Philadelphia. He'd be bored and lonely, and that's when he gets himself in trouble."

Another lie. I wasn't sure to what extent, or even why, but I reminded myself it really didn't matter. I was going to be stuck with the brat however I felt about the situation. "You still haven't told me how I'm supposed to keep him in line if he doesn't want to play ball," I pointed out.

"The penthouse is clean, so there won't be a problem," Saperstein said. I must have looked as skeptical as I felt, having witnessed his own predilection for sniffing funny white powder, because he went on quickly. "We're both men of the world, Brian. I'm not going to deny that I enjoy the odd recreational drug occasionally, just like you do. And yeah, I've made the past mistake of being too casual, too trusting: leaving shit around for anyone to get their hands on. Now I keep any … medications out of the way, locked in the safe." He smirked at me. "I don't think for a minute you'd be unprofessional enough to indulge while you're working, but if you want a drink to take the edge off, just call the bar and they'll send it up. All I ask is that you drink it in your own suite and don't leave it lying around in the penthouse."

"You don't need to concern yourself about my professionalism, Gary. I don't get trashed on my client's time." I kept my voice level although I was far from happy, not only with Saperstein's insinuation but also with the implications of his little speech. If he'd reached the point where he had to lock his stash up to keep it out of Sirius' clutches then the kid must have quite a problem, no matter what the Sap claimed. "What about when he goes out?"

"You'll go with him. He doesn't have access to cash or credit cards, so all you have to do is make sure he doesn't bum anything. I've got to warn you, Brian: he's a manipulative little liar when he wants to be, so don't let the baby blue eyes act fool you."

"And what happens when I'm asleep? Or do you expect me to sit up all night watching the door to make sure he doesn't give me the slip?"

"The only way in or out is by the elevator, and the door connecting it to the penthouse has a voice activated security system," Saperstein replied. "But it's not like the usual kind where just anybody using the correct command word can open it: this one recognizes individual voices and if yours isn't an authorised user then it won't respond. So if I want you to have unrestricted access to the penthouse, I have to use my master code to add you and then record your voice onto the system. Then you can come and go as you want."

Whoa. I blinked. "Do you have bars on the windows, too?"

"The only parts that open are the top flashes, and even if he could squeeze out it's a fifty-foot drop," Saperstein informed me seriously, apparently missing my sarcasm completely.

Oh, it just kept getting worse. This kid was being kept as a virtual prisoner and my job description was sounding more and more like that of a jailer than a babysitter, and I made my mind up to take a good long look at young Sirius before I committed myself. I wasn't a doctor or a social worker and I certainly wasn't qualified to handle someone with major psychological or addiction issues. If the kid seemed to be too much of a fruit I'd have to call Vance and tell him that I was backing out. He wouldn't like it, but he'd like it even less if Sirius had a meltdown on my watch.

And yet … I couldn't shake the niggling feeling that something was off here, and it wasn't just the fact that I wouldn't trust the Sap as far as I could throw him. Whatever problems Sirius might have, something in me rebelled at the thought of his not having the right to walk out of his own home whenever the fuck he wanted. Plus, what was that shit about his not having access to any finances? I'd seen the prices Saperstein was charging at the _Starlight _and, judging from the number of customers, he must be raking in the loot;yet it didn't sound as if any of the profit was ending up in the pockets of the star attraction. I found myself wondering what kind of a contract the kid had signed and what kind of advice he'd had, because it sounded as though the Sap owned him lock, stock and fucking barrel.

"Do you want dessert, Brian?" Saperstein asked, snapping his fingers at the waiter again. "I'm going to have the Pavlova. It's out of this world."

"No thanks," I replied. "I've had more than enough."

I watched as he ordered, his ratty hair flopping over his forehead: I studied the unhealthy pouches beneath his restless eyes, the dark pores pitting his cheeks and his stained, uneven teeth; and I found myself wondering what it must be like for Sirius having to wake up next to this beauty every morning, all for the sake of a shot at stardom. I wondered if he thought it was worth it.

I didn't know whether to admire the kid's cold-bloodedness or to feel sorry for the little gold digger.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

There was a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading from the restaurant to the nightclub on the ground floor and as we made our way down I could hear a voice singing _Cabaret. _If this was Saperstein's toyboy in action then I didn't rate his chances of making it big - not because the singer couldn't hold a tune but because the voice itself was totally unremarkable. I paused as the stage at the back of the club came into view: the performer appeared at first glance to be a woman with bouffant hair, dressed in pink satin and stilettos, but closer scrutiny proved her to be in fact a drag-queen in a wig. I cast a side-long horrified glance at Saperstein, who grinned.

"Oh, that's not Sirius. That's another of our resident acts, Shanda Leer. She's very popular."

Relieved, I glanced around the club. It was all carpeted in midnight-blue except for the dance floor in front of the stage, which was laid out like a huge chequer board in black and white. There was plenty of seating scattered about in the form of chrome and leather chairs grouped around tables with smoked glass tops, all of which appeared to be occupied. There was also a sizeable crowd around the cocktail bar, which was vast and black and illuminated by hanging lamps with electric blue glass, and by far the most impressive thing I'd yet seen. Perking up a little, I followed Saperstein down the stairs and across the plush carpeting to the bar, where he ordered a Blue Hawaii for himself and a Tequila Sunrise for me. I took a healthy swallow and then turned to catch the rest of the drag act.

She'd finished her song and had now gone into a stand-up comic routine, swishing around in her satin, pouting and posing and generally hamming it up for all she was worth. I was surprised that the Sap would have employed such a camp turn in a club full of breeders but the audience seemed to be really into it, the wives giggling self-consciously while their husbands slapped their thighs and guffawed at the lame innuendoes. Her timing was slick and her material was original enough, but I'd always loathed drag acts and this one wasn't anything like as daring as shows I'd sat through at Woody's or Babylon. I didn't even have the luxury of a popper or a quick trip to the back room to distract me and by the time Shanda had launched into her closing number of _Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend _I was seriously considering poking my eyes out with a cocktail stick.

The drag queen reached her finale with a flourish and then gave a deep curtsey to acknowledge the enthusiastic applause; Saperstein turned to me with a self-satisfied grin, his complexion looking unhealthier than ever under the blue lights flooding the bar. "Great, isn't she?" he enthused.

"Great," I agreed, grinding my teeth.

I'd noticed a piano and a small drum kit at the back of the stage and although the lights had dimmed I became aware that both were now occupied: a guy with a sax, a tall black man with a double bass and a dark-haired kid with a violin tucked under his chin were tuning up together. The audience quieted, hushed, and an air of anticipation seemed to swirl around the room. The Sap smirked into his rum.

"_I know all there is to know about the crying game; I've had my share of the crying game…."_

The voice came suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, until a single spotlight picked out a slight blond figure standing at the rear of the club.

"_First there are kisses, then there are sighs, and then before you know where you are you're saying goodbye …" _

Slowly Sirius began to move through the room towards the stage, singing into a slim radio microphone as he came. He was dressed in something that looked like a black judo suit, only sheerer and more clinging: the long sleeved top was tied loosely at his waist, and the pale skin of his chest glowed against the fabric; his hair shone white under the spotlight. He walked without any appearance of noticing the crowd - in fact he showed absolutely no awareness at all that every eye in the place was turned to him. He passed us without a flicker and stepped gracefully onto the stage, where the band had started up a soft, understated backing.

"_Some day soon I'm gonna tell the moon about the crying game and if he knows maybe he'll explain_

_Why there are heartaches, why there are tears, and what to do to stop feeling blue when love disappears."_

His voice was astounding, clear and true, with a smoky sultriness in the lower register that went straight to my dick. I was surprised at how small he was – I would have guessed no more than 5'8" or so – and his black clothes accentuated the slightness of his build. He wasn't in any way my usual taste, yet I couldn't deny how physically attractive he was: he moved with the confident poise of a dancer and the clinging fabric of his outfit framed one of the most delectable rears I'd seen in a long time. He used none of Shanda Leer's theatrics but delivered the song with an almost eerie stillness, letting his voice alone convey his emotion; the result was a sort of wistful pathos that was almost heart-breaking.

"_I've had my share of the crying game … don't want no more of the crying game…"_

The song ended and the club erupted with cheers and applause. Sirius made a small, graceful bow of acknowledgement before starting his second number, _Stormy Weather. _ The rest of his set continued in the same vane – _Love Hurts, Cry Me A River, Summertime. _All the dated lovelorn angst was way too Lesbionic for my tastes, but there was no denying that Sirius managed to bring a freshness to the old tunes that made me listen with more attention than I would have otherwise. I glanced around and saw nothing but rapt absorption on the faces of the crowd, particularly on those of the women: much as I hated to admit that the Sap was right about anything, I had to agree that the kid was hitting all the right notes as far as his audience was concerned.

It was beginning to dawn on me that this Sirius was way out of Saperstein's league and I really couldn't understand why the fuck he'd tied himself to such a third-rater. I didn't know a great deal about the entertainment industry but I was pretty confident that Sirius could have lifted any rock and found himself a better - and more trustworthy - manager than the Sap.

I turned to the man in question, who was watching his protégé with what looked like a combination of hunger and anticipation, like a lion sizing up a gazelle at a waterhole. Not at all a pleasant expression. "Is all his material like this?"

Saperstein shrugged. "It's what the customers want," he replied, his gaze still riveted on the kid on the stage. "They just lap up all this soulful shit."

"Does he sing here every night?" If he did it would certainly make my job a lot easier, but Saperstein shook his head.

"Just Fridays and Saturdays. That way I can always guarantee a full house at the weekends. And it makes sure they stay hungry for more."

I'd noticed someone else who didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off the young singer: the dark-haired violinist seemed equally absorbed. His scrutiny was more furtive, but once I'd noticed the surreptitious looks he kept throwing at Sirius' back there was no missing them and I smirked to myself. Apparently at least one other of the Sap's employees _was _gay and certainly showing an interest. Perhaps there was a little clandestine affair going on and the Sap had become aware of it: it would account for his wanting to keep such a close eye on the kid. Yet the violinist's glances didn't seem particularly passionate: his dark brows were drawn down in a frown, and he kept biting his lower lip in a manner more anxious than lascivious. Whatever the case, I couldn't see that his interest was returned in any way – Sirius seemed as oblivious to the band behind him as he was to everyone else in the room.

The set was coming to an end: Sirius announced his last number, and to my surprise the violinist started up the unmistakable intro to Fleetwood Mac's _Man Of The World._

"_Shall I tell you about my life? They say I'm a man of the world._

_I've flown across every tide, and I've seen lots of pretty girls."_

"What the fuck's he singing this for?" Saperstein snapped angrily. "This isn't part of his programme." He glared at the stage.

"_I guess I've got everything I need, I wouldn't ask for more;_

_And there's no-one I'd rather be …_

_I just wish that I had never been born."_

_They say I need a good woman to make me feel like a good man should._

_I don't say I'm a good man, but I would be if I could._

_I could tell you about my life and keep you amused, I'm sure;_

_About all the times I've cried, and how I don't want to be sad anymore._

_And how I wish I was in love …" _

Sirius put more passion and intensity into this last song than any of his other numbers. I noticed how he'd changed the lyrics from 'and I need a good woman' to 'they say I need a good woman' and I couldn't help but think that this one was truly a _crie de coeur _as far as the kid was concerned. The audience seemed to feel the same way and were on their feet in a standing ovation even before the last plaintive notes had faded.

Sirius stood for a moment, head bowed and arms spread, before murmuring his thanks into the microphone and disappearing behind the curtain at the rear of the stage. The crowd spent a while shouting for an encore before it became obvious that Sirius wasn't going to return, so they somewhat reluctantly took their seats again to wait for the next act.

The Sap slammed his glass down on the bar and headed towards the stage, shouldering his way angrily through the crowd. I quickly finished my own drink before hurrying after him: I saw the violinist cast a worried look at the Sap's back as he jerked the curtain aside and went looking for his departed star.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

I could hear the Sap ranting through the dressing room door.

"…so what's the fucking point of me wasting my time working out your sets if you're just going to fucking change it whenever you feel like it?"

"I didn't change the whole set, Gary. It was one song." The kid sounded bored and tired.

"Yes, and it messed up the mood of the whole set! You were supposed to finish with _Autumn Leaves_! The Fleetwood Mac number was too fucking modern!"

"_Modern …_ Christ," Sirius muttered. "It's older than I am."

I could hear the sound of clothing being removed and briefly imagined the kid standing there in just his shorts, all that pale, glowing flesh uncovered …

I shook away the image.

"It was a song, Gary," Sirius went on. "A sad song, just like all the others. You're only pissed because I sang something you hadn't chosen, that's all. Anyway, the audience loved it … you heard them."

"Don't try and tell me what the audience loves. I _know_ what the fucking audience loves, right? How many times do I have to say it … you have to project an image the public identify with, one they recognise, and…"

"Yeah, I know," Sirius replied shortly. "But it's _your _image, remember? NOT mine. It was NEVER mine!"

I heard something that sounded like a muffled curse and then some scuffling sounds. I decided I'd better cool things down inside so I knocked sharply: there was a brief silence before I heard footsteps approaching and the door was thrown open, revealing an angry and flustered looking Saperstein.

"Hi," I said sweetly.

"Brian." He swallowed a couple of times before stepping aside and gesturing me in. Sirius was standing with his back to me, pulling a grey hoodie over the baggy fawn cargoes he was already wearing. He turned as I entered, and my first thought was that I'd been wrong: his eyes truly were that amazing shade of blue. My second was that the left side of his face looked a lot redder than the right. His blond hair was mussed and beautiful.

"Sirius," Saperstein said with a strained smile, reaching out to lay a hand on the kid's shoulder. "This is Brian Kinney, the guy I told you about."

Sirius moved casually to one side so that the Sap's hand barely made contact. It could have been accidental, but I didn't think so. "Oh yes. My babysitter," he acknowledged, and there was no mistaking the resentment in his tone, or in his expression.

"Pleased to meet you." I gave him my best smile and held out my hand. For a moment I didn't think he was going to return the gesture; eventually he did, although the resulting brief touch of palms was almost as insulting as if he hadn't bothered at all.

Saperstein cleared his throat. "Baby, I've explained to you …"

"I know." Sirius turned abruptly and sat down at the dresser, where he began to fix his hair with a comb. "Mr. Kinney is going to be my 'aide'" – he made the air-quote with his voice and not his fingers – "while you're gone. Just in case I fall asleep in the bath and drown, or choke myself to death on a pretzel, or electrocute myself on the toaster."

"Or get your fucking ass arrested again!" Saperstein yelled, a vein pulsing above his right eye.

Sirius turned to look at him. "Yes," he agreed unemotionally. "Or that."

There was a prolonged silence: the Sap glaring, his lips thinned with anger, while Sirius gazed inscrutably back. "Well," I said at last. "Let's assume none of that's going to happen, shall we?"

Sirius' blue gaze met mine in the mirror. "Don't worry, Mr. Kinney. I won't cause you any trouble." He returned his attention to smoothing his hair.

Okay, I know who I am. I know how I look. Modesty isn't a virtue that even my closest friends would admit to my having. I'm used to seeing envy or desire, resentment or even hate in the faces of men and women, gay or straight. What I'm not used to is … no reaction at all. Zip. Nada. I know I'm any gay boy's wet dream, and yet those beautiful eyes looked at me with all the dispassion of someone putting salt on a slug. For a moment I wondered whether the kid might not actually be straight after all, but I instantly dismissed the idea – my gaydar had been bleeping deafeningly since the moment I'd laid eyes on him.

"So, Brian," Saperstein said, interrupting my thoughts. "I'm flying out early next Saturday, so I'll expect you, say, Friday afternoon. That'll give me time to show you around and get you settled in before I leave."

I nodded. "How long do you expect to be gone?"

"That'll depend on how things turn out. I won't know until I've had some meetings," Saperstein replied off-handedly, his eyes still fixed on the slight figure seated at the dresser. "Maybe only a couple of days, but I might be gone for a week or so. I take it that won't be a problem?"

"Not at all," I replied, although my heart was sinking rapidly. Okay, so I hadn't picked up any signs from the kid's looks, speech or general demeanour that he might be

unstable or a chronic user, but he was obviously hostile to the idea of my presence and wasn't even attempting to hide it. A week of pussy-footing around a sulky teenager? It was going to be hell.

"Fine, fine. I'll see you Friday, then." He patted my shoulder and I resisted the urge to shrug him off in the same way the kid had. "Now, Sirius and I have a few things to discuss, so I'll have to leave you to make your own way out." He was already at the door, pointedly letting me know he wanted me gone. I threw a quick glance at Sirius to see if he would react to my departure, but he paid no attention at all. He probably hadn't even been listening. I said goodnight as I walked out of the room and Saperstein closed the door on me.

I'd been dismissed.

I paused as the voices started up again inside, but I didn't try to work out what they were saying. From what I'd heard, Sirius was capable of giving as good as he got and I really didn't want to know the dynamics of whatever kind of fucked-up relationship they had. All I wanted was to get back to Liberty Avenue and find some hot ass to take my frustrations out on.

As far as I was concerned, the pimp and his toyboy probably deserved each other.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

The elevator came to rest at the penthouse floor and the first thing that came into view when the door slid open was the Sap.

"Brian! Good to see you!" He reached out to take my suitcase so I shouldered my holdall, picked up my briefcase containing my laptop and stepped out into a small, brightly lit foyer area. The elevator had been set in the corner of the building and the L-shaped foyer enclosed it: a rubber plant reaching almost to the ceiling stood in the centre angle, and I wasn't really surprised to see that the walls were adorned with framed photographs of the Sap posing with various stars, presumably taken at some of his previous clubs – I recognized Meatloaf, Tina Turner and Phil Collins among the faces of more recent but less iconic celebrities.

"That's the penthouse," Saperstein said, indicating a door behind him, "but I'll show you the guest suite first so that you can dump your bags."

I followed him across the foyer to another door with a key pad set into it. "The default code for the suite is 9999," Saperstein told me. "Sirius uses the place now and then when he needs some space, so I'll need a four-digit number you can easily remember to reset the lock for you. It's completely self-contained, so if you need to work or want some privacy you won't be disturbed." He keyed in the code and pushed the door open, revealing a corridor with cream walls and a dark-red carpet. There was a door on the left leading into a fair-sized bedroom decorated in the same colour scheme, with a dresser, a pair of closets and matching nightstands on either side of the king-sized bed. A lamp with a red shade and a telephone were conveniently placed on the right-hand one.

"Any calls you need to make, feel free," Saperstein said, putting my suitcase down. "There's another phone in the lounge. If you want to call the penthouse, dial 1, and if you want to call the restaurant for something to eat or a drink from the bar, dial 0. Ask for whatever you want and they'll bring it up. If you want an outside line, dial 9. And if you have any laundry, there's one downstairs … you can use it yourself, or just tell someone to come and collect it."

"Fine." I placed my briefcase on the bed's cream duvet and dropped the holdall beside it. "Can I smoke in here?" It had been one of my main concerns.

"Sure," Saperstein replied, "There should be an ashtray in the nightstand and a couple more in the lounge. I smoke myself, but I try not to around Sirius. I made him give up … I don't want his vocal chords getting fucked."

Christ. No booze, no drugs, no cigarettes. No company but the Sap. No wonder the kid was climbing the fucking walls sometimes.

Saperstein indicated a door to the right. "En suite's through there."

He waited while I went and poked my head inside, finding a small but functional bathroom with a toilet, washbasin and mirror, and a shower. Then I followed him out of the bedroom and down the corridor to a room at the far end, which proved to be the lounge area. The colour scheme was getting a little old now, but still it was a comfortable room: the suite ran along one side of the old warehouse and the lounge had the advantage of one of the large windows in the front of the building overlooking the Monongahela; a small drop-leaf table stood before it, with a dining chair on either side. There was a cream leather couch and a coffee table, and a flat-screen television hanging on the wall opposite with a small entertainment centre beneath it. "There's a pretty good selection of DVD's in there," Saperstein said, "but they're all main stream. I'll dig out some of my porn collection before I leave, only watch the couch! Cum's a bitch to get out of leather, but I bet you know that, huh, Brian?" He nudged me with an elbow.

I really didn't want to think about the sort of porn the Sap would watch, but I willed my face to look suitably grateful.

"If you want tea or coffee and can't be bothered sending for one, you'll find all the fixings and a couple of mugs in there," he went on, indicating a small counter unit with cupboards under it tucked away in a corner. I could see a chrome tray with an electric kettle and a coffee maker sitting on top of it.

"Well, I'm sure you can work everything else out for yourself, so if you're ready I'll show you round the penthouse. I told Gardner that you could make full use of it – apart from the bedroom and my office, of course - there's a games room with a pool table, a gym if you want to work out, and you can even use the Jacuzzi if you're so inclined."

"Thanks," I replied, following him back down the corridor, "but won't Sirius object to my invading his space?"

"There's more than enough room for the two of you," Saperstein shrugged. "He keeps himself to himself pretty much, anyway; he's got his books and his guitar – don't worry, it's an acoustic, so it won't disturb you in here." He closed the suite behind us and headed towards the door on the other side of the foyer. "Well, here we are. It's the same code as the suite door – 9999." He punched the code and opened the door and I found myself in a corridor like the one in the guest suite, only much longer and with a polished wooden floor instead of carpeting. I guessed that this one must run along the back wall of the building.

"You can access everything from this corridor," Saperstein told me. Halfway down there was a high, wide, arch cut in the right-hand wall and he paused. The room beyond was in shadows, but I could make out the looming shape of a pool table. "That's the games room – if you walk straight through you come to the living area, but I'll show you the gym and the bathroom first. They're down here."

At the end of the corridor was a pair of swing doors. Saperstein pushed through and flipped a light switch, revealing a fully equipped gym: I saw a Stairmaster, a power rack, a treadmill and an exercise bike as well as benches, wall bars and racks of weights. It made me wonder why the Sap was such a weedy specimen when he had a gym I'd have traded a kidney for: but then, thinking about it, I had a kitchen equipped with every gadget known to man, and I never used any of them but the coffee machine and the microwave.

"I'm impressed," I said, meaning it. Whatever else I did in the next few days, I was definitely going to treat myself to a thorough work out.

On the other side of the gym was another set of swing doors, these leading into a huge white-tiled bathroom. The regular fixtures – the toilet, washbasin, tub and shower stall – were all on the right-hand side of the room, leaving the left side free to house the Jacuzzi, which was set into a raised platform of varnished blond wood and would comfortably have seated four.

We exited the bathroom via a door in the far right corner and turned into another corridor. "That's my office," Saperstein said casually as we passed a door on the right. "That door stays locked at all times."

The corridor led into the bedroom, which was large and square, with a window at the far end matching the one in the guest suite, so I realized that we had circuited the building and come back to the front.

A man's bedroom can tell you so much about his personality: think of Mikey's tribute to his childhood, Emmett's boudoir or Ted's Porn Emporium. Knowing the Sap for the sleazeball he was, I'd expected something … gruesome: either the tacky erotica of a bordello, or a dungeon with black sheets, manacles and a sling in the corner. But this was just a bedroom. Light, airy and pleasantly furnished, with Scandinavian design walk-in closets and dressers, a huge bed shrouded in a white duvet and a white chaise lounge sitting in front of the window.

I was kind of disappointed.

Another door to the right out of the bedroom, and we arrived in the final room of the penthouse: the living space. It took up the rest of the area between the bedroom at the left-hand corner of the building and the guest wing on the right, with four of the now familiar windows running along the front wall. At the far end of the room stood a round dining table and chairs, with a long gleaming breakfast bar beyond separating the kitchen space. The lounge area was closest to us, with a massive Sony entertainment centre and a mind-bogglingly wide TV screen on the wall above it. A vast black leather L-shaped couch served both as seating and a sort of room divider, with matching armchairs scattered about. And lounging on the couch with his bare feet propped up on a coffee table, dressed in baggy grey sweats and a shapeless old t shirt and watching a larger-than-life Oprah with a bored expression on his beautiful face, was Sirius.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_Authors note:_

_Your're all being very patient with the scene setting, but things will get moving very soon. Trust me._

CHAPTER SIX

"Hey, Babe," Saperstein said. "Watcha doing?"

"Working on a cure for the common cold." He didn't even bother glancing up.

Saperstein scowled and strode over. "Have you any idea how much that table cost? Get your goddamn feet off it! And turn off that shit." He snatched up the remote and cut off Oprah in full flow. "Brian's here, so fucking say hello to him."

"Hello," Sirius repeated dutifully, his eyes still on the now blank screen.

Saperstein puffed out an angry breath.

"Well," I said after another one of those awkward pauses, "I guess I'll go and unpack."

"Yes, good idea," Saperstein replied, controlling his temper with visible effort. "Go and get yourself settled. Sirius isn't on stage until 9 o'clock, so we'll be eating around six. Of course we'd like you to join us."

Oh, God. "In the restaurant?" I asked.

"No, no. We'll just have a little informal dinner here." He glared daggers at the back of Sirius' blond head. "Sirius loves to cook, don't you, Baby?"

"Yes. I love to cook," the kid agreed woodenly.

"Not allergic to seafood or anything? No? Great," Saperstein took my arm and began steering me further into the lounge. "I'll just show you the games room on the way out. Do you like Play Station? No? Well, I've got a huge collection of games if you change your mind. I'm shit at pool myself, but I've heard you're quite a hustler. Sirius likes to play, too, so I'm sure he'll give you a game."

Somehow I couldn't see myself bonding with the kid over a pool table … not even in the way the Sap was talking about.

The games room was really just an extension at the back of the lounge. The pool table took up most of the space, but there was still room for a couple of booths set up with monitor screens, presumably for computer games, plus a few arcade consuls standing along the wall. I also noticed a small bar in one corner, obviously unused, with empty optics hanging forlornly above it.

We walked through the arch at the far end and I found myself back in the corridor leading to the penthouse door.

"If you've got that number, I'll come and set the lock now," Saperstein said.

"Fine," I replied, although I was itching to get out of the guy's company. Unfortunately he was still hell-bent on impressing me and I had to endure a final tour of the foyer while he gave me the story behind every photo hanging on the walls. To hear him talk you'd believe the creep was best buddies with every major celebrity from New York to the West Coast.

Eventually we made it to the suite door: I waited while he reset it with my own personal code, promised him that I would be at the penthouse by 5.30 so that he could get my voice added to the security system before dinner, and then at last I was blissfully, peacefully alone. I went straight to the bedroom, moved my holdall and briefcase from the bed and hunted down the small glass ashtray in the nightstand drawer. Then I fumbled for my cigarettes, flopped down on my back and groaned.

Relationships. They were so fucked up. It should be obvious to anyone with even half a brain that people weren't meant to live together: how could they be, when they all wanted different things out of their lives? The trouble was that they always seemed to mistake lust for love: they never seemed to be able to grasp the concept that just because they wanted to get into somebody's pants it didn't mean that fate had somehow decreed they were destined to be soul mates throughout eternity. Because once that initial phase of attraction waned – as it inevitably did – what were you left with? Two people with absolutely nothing in common except the poor fucking children they'd bred together. And then what? Either they stayed together anyway – as my parents had – because of the kids, or their religious beliefs, or whatever fucked-up reason they used to justify their marriage turning into a prison sentence: or they split up, usually with the kids ending up as pawns in some acrimonious divorce.

The problem was they never seemed to be able to learn from their mistakes. Oh no, they went plunging headlong straight into yet more doomed relationships, trailing the kids along with them like so much baggage. I thought of my sister, who'd got herself knocked up at eighteen and married the poor schmuck as a way out of the hell-hole that was the Kinney family home. When her husband finally discovered he couldn't stand her whining – or her increasingly widening butt – any longer and walked out, leaving her with a mortgage and two obnoxious brats, what did she do? Jump straight into the arms of the first guy who showed any interest! Now she was going through her second divorce, poorer but seemingly none the wiser, because she was already dating prospect number three.

It wasn't as if the homosexual community was any better. Most of my closest friends were single, but it wasn't for the lack of trying. They'd all been through the predictable wringer of meeting the person they were convinced was the love of their lives only to find that the handsome prince, once kissed, turned into an ugly, slimy frog … but did it deter them? Did it fuck. They were all convinced that The Special One was still there waiting, just around the next corner, and their eyes would meet his and bells would ring and little birdies would start to cheep … Jesus! Take my best friend Michael, who'd been looking for love all his life. It took him sixteen years to eventually accept that I wasn't ever going to be that person, so then what? He fell for a guy whom everybody – except Mikey and his mother – could see was a manipulative, dominating asshole who was never going to be right for him. Yet after Mikey had allowed himself to be dragged half across the country away from his family and friends by someone who then proved himself to be only looking for a surrogate mother to help rear his teenage son, did Mikey learn his lesson? Nope. He starts dating a guy who's a professor in Gay and Lesbian Studies at Carnegie Mellon, who also happens to be HIV positive!

Okay. I wasn't saying that fact in itself was an insurmountable obstacle, although Mikey himself freaked for a while when he found out and his Mom still hadn't come to terms with the idea. Ben was a nice guy – not to mention built like a brick shit-house - and he genuinely seemed to care about Mikey. But let's face it, he was also an intelligent, educated man and Mikey quit school at eighteen. He might be sweet and honest and loyal to a fault, but was that really going to be enough to keep Ben's interest long term? I doubted it. They'd already hit a rocky patch when Michael discovered I'd fucked Ben at a White Party several years ago: it stirred up all Mikey's insecurities and jealousies again, and although they seemed to have weathered the storm for the moment, I wasn't betting on the house when it came to them lasting. Especially not when you took Debbie's continuing hostility into the equation.

From Michael my thoughts strayed to Lindsay, the only woman I ever fucked, back in my wild college days. Boy, was that a mistake. She might call herself a lesbian but I obviously made quite an impression that night because, after she hooked up with a law student called Melanie and decided she wanted to be a Mom after all, she spent years trying to alternately flatter or nag me into providing sperm so that she could have our baby. The fact that Mel loathed me from the first moment she met me didn't bother her at all. I mean, what the fuck was she thinking? That I, who'd endured the most miserable childhood imaginable, who hated kids and who'd spent my entire adult life deriding the whole idea of family life, would actually consent to fathering a child for her? I was the most selfish, the most self-absorbed, the most emotionally unavailable person I knew, I freely admitted it, and the only things that have ever mattered to me was how much money I could make and how many hot guys I could fuck. As a father I would have made Jack Kinney look like Mike Brady.

So, in the face of my intransigence and her ticking biological time clock, Lindsay had finally let Mel persuade her into accepting an anonymous sperm donor and the kid – named Abraham, God help the poor little bastard – had been born about a year ago. Unfortunately the happy event hadn't turned out to be all that was expected; Mel, who couldn't be exactly described as the maternal type, had soon got sick of the cooing and gushing and dirty nappies and had grabbed herself a little extra-marital action. The only thing that surprised me about the whole affair was that it had taken so long to happen, but Lindsay of course was devastated. She disposed of Mel – six years of living together meaning nothing when weighed against one night's infidelity, apparently – and got a live-in babysitter so that she could go back to work full time. The babysitter was a Frenchman called Guy, who was looking for a way to stay in America once his permit ran out. So Lindsay – obviously in one of her less sane moments – decided that the best way to help him out was to go through a form of marriage so that he could claim citizenship. Even though he was gay.

Need I even begin to describe how _that _brilliant ideaturned out?

There was no doubt about it, relationships sucked.

So that's why I never fucked anyone I knew personally … not friends, and not colleagues. Not business acquaintances. No names, no numbers: that had been my coda from day one.

Which was obviously where the Sap was going wrong. Okay: so he wanted to make a fortune out of Sirius' talent: fine. He should have left it at that. I would have thought that trying to manage a stroppy teenager full of ego and ambition would have been a daunting enough task without the added complication of making said stroppy teenager your live-in lover. Saperstein had made the fundamental error of letting his dick rule his head and getting obsessed with a pretty blond twink. After all, what the fuck could those two possibly have in common except the desire to be famous? And if Sirius _did_ make it as big as the Sap thought, was the guy really deluded enough to believe that the kid would stick with _his_ sorry ass, no matter what kind of contract he'd signed? Surely as soon as a better opportunity presented itself he'd be gone, free and clear.

Except Sirius didn't actually seem to want the fame-and-fortune lure the Sap was dangling before him – or if he did, he was doing a damn good job of pretending he didn't. Apart from his gigging outfit I hadn't seen the kid dressed in anything that he couldn't have bought at the Big Q. Instead of being delighted with his wealthy lover's luxury playground, Sirius seemed to be utterly indifferent to all of it. Saperstein had implied that Sirius depended on him for everything, from the clothes on his back to the food he ate, and yet far from expressing gratitude he didn't even bother to try and conceal his disdain. And that was another thing: I'd met a few gold diggers in my time and the one thing they all had in common was the way they buttered up their sugar-daddies. Sure, they might be leaping into everybody else's pants the moment the coast was clear, but they knew better than to bite the hand that fed them, at least in public. Sirius not only seemed to actively dislike the Sap as a person, he evidently had serious misgivings about the path his career was taking and he wasn't afraid to say so. Which beggared the question … why? Why was he living with Saperstein, letting the creep run his life and make his decisions?

When Vance had first told me about Sirius I'd imagined him to be of mediocre talent, probably not that bright, a kid who genuinely believed the Sap could help him become a star and who saw selling his ass as part of the induction fee. After talking to Saperstein I'd revised that view and envisioned some kind of drug-fuelled proto-rock star who thought that hell-raising and being an asshole was part of the territory. What I'd in fact found appeared to be an exceptionally talented, intelligent, articulate and personable – well, _probably _personable when he wasn't being a sulky brat - young man who, in a sane world, shouldn't even be breathing the same air as a low-life like the Sap.

It made no sense. No fucking sense at all.

I stubbed out my cigarette and closed my eyes, feeling a headache beginning to build.

What the fuck had Vance gotten me into?

I was never going to forgive the Limey bastard.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

By 4.30 I'd unpacked, set up my lap top in the lounge, checked my e mails, showered, brushed my teeth and fixed my hair. Then I spent 45 minutes deciding exactly what to wear which, considering the limited wardrobe I had available, seemed a little excessive even for me. After all, who was I trying to impress? Not the Sap, certainly. Perhaps I was a little miffed at Sirius' lack of response to me - not worried, no, never that; even at thirty years old I knew I was still hot as fuck. I told myself I only wanted those blue eyes to actually notice me for once, to see what they looked like when they lit with a spark of interest. Just to prove that I could do it.

Whatthefuckever.

I eventually settled on a moss-green Vivienne Westwood cashmere sweater paired with black Armani slacks and my favourite Saint Laurent boots, and at 5.30 precisely I pressed the buzzer on the penthouse door and The Sap let me in. We spent a jolly half hour programming my voice into the security system and checking that it would respond to my commands, and then we headed for the kitchen where Sirius was preparing dinner. I was surprised to find that it actually smelled quite appetising.

The table was laid ready for three so I waited until Saperstein sat down before taking the seat opposite, as far away from him as I could get. He was still regaling me with more tales about his famous buddies so I half-tuned him out, simply throwing in the odd laugh or _Really?_ whenever it seemed appropriate. My gaze kept straying to Sirius, still dressed in his Big Q finery, moving around the kitchen with his usual economic grace whilst completely ignoring us. So much for the Vivienne Westwood approach. When he eventually came over carrying a basket of garlic bread I went for broke and gave him a wide smile.

"Need any help?"

His blue eyes turned to me, and just for a moment I caught the same flicker of surprise I'd seen in the waiter's expression. Then he closed up again. "No thanks," he replied shortly. "it's fine."

"Relax, Brian, you're our guest," Saperstein said. "Hey, Babe, bring the Evian, wouldya?"

Sirius went to the refrigerator, fetched the bottle and handed it to him without comment. The Sap filled all three glasses and by the time he'd finished Sirius was back, carrying a heaped plate in each hand. I studied the dish he placed before me: fettuccini with shrimp in some kind of tomato-based sauce.

"Looks good," I said.

Sirius said nothing. He walked around the table to set the other plate in front of Saperstein, who reached out for a hunk of garlic bread and immediately began to eat. I waited until Sirius had returned with his own dinner and had taken his seat between us at the table before sampling the food. I was pleasantly surprised.

"Tastes good, too," I complimented him. "What is it?"

"Cajun Shrimp," he replied, not looking at me.

I ignored the hostility in his voice. Hey, I could be charming when I wanted to be. "What's in it?"

"Shrimp."

Saperstein glared at him. "I think Brian probably figured that out for himself."

Sirius let out a long breath. "Tomatoes, peppers, onion, garlic. Celery. Celery seed. Thyme, parsley, Tabasco. Salt, pepper. Oh, and there should be white wine, only we don't have any." He shot a quick, resentful glance at the Sap. "Would you like me to tell you how to cook it, too?"

I very nearly laughed; he was being such a bratty little twat. But somehow I felt that his pissy attitude was directed more at the Sap than me, so I wasn't going to hold it against him. "Well, you're obviously multi-talented," I told him.

He said nothing but gave a little shrug, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear as he did so. I refused to admit I found the gesture unfathomably cute.

"Yeah, he cooks almost as good as he sings," Saperstein laughed, dunking his garlic bread in the sauce and ripping off a chunk with his teeth. "God knows why he bothers when we've got a cordon bleu chef downstairs. But you know what they say, Brian; a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. Every man's walking wet dream! Or he would be if he'd wear some decent clothes instead of those fucking rags. But I guess you can't have everything."

I was watching Sirius while the Sap was speaking: the kid didn't look up from his plate but I saw his lips press together and a slow flush creep up his smooth cheeks. He remained silent for the rest of the meal, something that Saperstein probably didn't even notice because he was too busy explaining to me how he was planning to launch Sirius' meteoric rise to stardom. I kept one eye on the object of Saperstein's ambition as he sat there, fiddling with the baggy sleeves of his top or pushing the food listlessly around: after a while he got up and took his plate back to the kitchen, even though he'd hardly touched it.

"I thought teenagers were supposed to have big appetites," I said.

"He always gets a little nervous before a show," Saperstein replied airily. "That's why he's being such a bitch tonight. Don't take it personally, Brian."

"I wasn't."

Sirius spent a few minutes in the kitchen, seemingly loading the dishwasher, and then returned to the table and reached down to take my empty plate.

"Thank you," I told him sincerely. "That was delicious."

He was leaning close to my shoulder, and as he paused for a moment I suddenly caught the scent of his hair: something like green apples, fresh and clean and young.

"You're welcome," he said, still refusing to meet my eyes, though I was willing him to. Then he was picking up my plate and moving to collect the Sap's, like a good little waiter.

I didn't understand any of it.

* * *

That night, lying in bed in the guest suite, I couldn't get to sleep. I told myself that it was just being in a strange place, without the familiar surroundings of my own Loft. Nothing at all to do with a slight blond figure moving with that strange, contained grace across my mental vision every time I closed my eyes.

Nothing to do with the scent of fresh green apples.

I couldn't figure out why the kid intrigued me. I was here to do a job, period: Sirius' reasons for being with the Sap and his motives for doing what he was doing weren't any part of the deal as far as I was concerned. All I had to do was keep him out of trouble until Saperstein returned and then I'd be out of the picture. I'd probably never see his face again until it was splashed across the front page of _Hello_ – no doubt with the Sap hanging round his neck, another photograph to join the collection of trophies in the foyer.

Either that or he'd fall flat on his ass and end up crawling back to Mommy and Daddy with his tail between his legs.

And why would I care one way or the other?

I wouldn't, obviously.

I just couldn't figure out why a kid who looked like Sirius would be with a guy who looked like the Sap. Or more to the point, why a kid who was with someone who looked like the Sap didn't seem to be interested in looking at _me._ Apparently my mental equilibrium had been thrown into free fall by such inconceivable notion, because I couldn't come up with any other reason why I'd be lying here sleepless, trying to fathom the machinations of a bratty teenager.

The trouble was, I didn't think that Sirius' attitude _was_ just typical teenage rudeness. I remembered the mark on his face that first night and it made me wonder what other 'punishments' the Sap might dole out in private, because he seemed to me a hair-trigger type of guy who didn't tolerate dissent easily. Yet Sirius was pushing his buttons deliberately, I was sure of it, and it reminded me of the way I used to provoke Jack when I was a kid, even though I knew I'd end up paying for it.

In blood, usually.

The difference was that I'd had a goal to aim for: escape. Through all the humiliation, the abuse, the neglect, I'd held on to the dream of growing up, going to college and becoming successful beyond my father's feeble imaginings. That I'd achieved it all, and more, was my valediction.

The only time I'd seen Sirius display any passion about anything was when he was actually performing. Other than that, he seemed completely disconnected from everything – from his surroundings, his circumstances, from the future that Saperstein was so busily creating for him. Saperstein had told me that all the kid cared about was singing and that he'd walked away from his affluent, privileged home in order to follow his dream, but the only ambition Sirius now seemed to possess was to goad his manager at every opportunity. Because if he believed so much in his own talent, why was he allowing the Sap to push him in a direction he so clearly didn't want to go?

Why was I asking myself all these fucking pointless questions?

Christ, I wished I had some weed. Or a willing trick, that'd do the job. The bed was too hard or too soft or something, because I really couldn't get comfortable. I remembered the Sap had told me that Sirius used this suite sometimes and I thought about him lying here, in this bed: I turned my head into the pillow, seeking the scent of green apples.

I wondered what he'd dreamed about.

I'd bet the Sap was comfortable, lying in that clean white bedroom wrapped around Sirius' warm, lithe little body. I imagined those ugly, grasping hands roaming over that pale skin and all the things the creep would be doing to the kid.

I blamed Sirius' cooking for the fact that I felt suddenly, unaccountably, sick.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

I'd just stepped out of the shower when I heard the phone beside the bed bleeping, so I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to pick it up.

"Where have you been?" Sirius demanded. "I've been calling forever."

Hello to you, too. "I was in the shower," I replied. I didn't see any reason to tell him I'd been a while because I'd been taking care of my morning woody.

"Oh. Well, I want to go out."

Great. The Sap hadn't been gone five minutes and already the kid was straining at the leash. It looked like I'd be hitting the ground running. Still, I wasn't about to jump as soon as the little twat whistled.

"Fine. I'll catch breakfast, then I'll be with you."

"I've got coffee made. Come over as soon as you're dressed, you can eat here." He hung up without waiting for a reply, leaving me staring at a dead phone.

Rude, _arrogant_ little twat.

I took my sweet time dressing in Hugo Boss jeans and a soft black T that clung to my pecs seductively. By the time I'd fixed my hair and slung my Gucci leather jacket over my shoulder it was almost ten o'clock before I arrived at the penthouse. I keyed the code to open the door and made my way through the games room to the kitchen, where I was confronted by an irate blond twink.

"Why the fuck have you taken so long?" he snapped, his eyes flashing. Well, he was certainly looking at me now. "I told you I wanted to go out!"

I tilted my head to one side and glared down at him. Time for some ground rules.

"Okay, Princess, let's get this straight. Your manager is my client, not you. I'm here to make sure you don't get your stupid ass into any more trouble, not to be your fucking servant. And I'm not your chauffeur either, so if you want me to take you somewhere you'd better ask in a civilised manner - because if you ever speak to me like that again you can stay right where you fucking are until hell freezes over."

He blinked a bit at that and I could almost hear the wheels in his pretty little head turning. "I'm sorry," he said at last in a tone which, if not exactly appeasing, at least wasn't so confrontational. "There's … um … somewhere I need to be. I need you to take me."

I continued to look at him in silence.

He made a little frustrated face. "Alright. I apologise for being rude. Would you please give me a lift?"

It was a start. I smiled at him sweetly. "Sure. You only had to ask. Just as soon as I get some of that coffee you were talking about."

He was bright enough not to antagonise me any further by protesting, so he gave a curt nod and crossed to the coffee machine while I perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. He poured me a cup with his back to me. "Cream?" he asked. "Sugar?"

"No cream, plenty of sugar."

He placed the coffee before me, ignoring my thanks, and then went to stand by one of the windows, staring out at the river and keeping his back still turned resolutely in my direction. I watched him as I sipped the rich Colombian brew: today he had paired the shapeless grey hoodie with a pair of worn, ratty jeans and sneakers, and he still managed to look hot. He began to fidget as time went on, scuffling his feet and chewing absently at his thumbnail. He reminded me of a kid waiting impatiently to go for a treat, only instead of being excited he seemed nervous … anxious, even.

Maybe more like a kid anticipating a fix.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked casually.

"South Fayette."

Well. The wealthy 'Burbs. Hardly the kind of area you'd find a dealer in.

"Okay." I took pity on him and drained the last of my coffee. "Let's go, then."

He scurried ahead of me like an unleashed puppy while I followed at a more leisurely pace. He was waiting impatiently at the elevator door when I arrived and as soon as I'd spoken the command into the intercom he crowded inside: we rode down to the first floor in silence and exited through the private entrance at the rear of the building into the bright morning sunlight. The Reserved slots of the car park were right in front of us so I crossed to where the Jeep was sitting and when we were both buckled in I put on my Raybans and headed towards South Fayette.

"Can I turn on the radio?" Sirius asked.

"Sure."

He fiddled around until he found something he liked – some shit that sounded like Moby – and then sat back, gazing out the window and tapping his fingers on his thigh.

"You like this kind of thing?"

He shrugged. "It passes the time."

Christ, having a conversation with this kid was difficult. "It's not like the stuff you sing."

He flicked me a look. "Please don't tell me you're naïve enough to think I like everything I sing. Or that I sing everything I like."

I bit back a smile. I always enjoyed a challenge. "So why do you?"

"Why do I what?"

"Sing what you don't like. Don't sing what you do."

"Gary knows what he wants."

"What about what _you_ want?"

There was a long pause and I was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer when I heard a soft sigh. "Because sometimes it isn't about what you want," he said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. I glanced over at him: he was aimlessly doodling a picture on the inside of the side window, something that looked like a star. "Sometimes … it's just the way things are."

* * *

He guided me to a residential street in Newbury Market, lined with brand-new luxury homes. "Pull up here," he said urgently, craning his head to peer at a house on the other side of the street. It looked just like all the others to me, expensive but bland, with a wide swathe of manicured lawn leading down to the sidewalk and snowy drapes at the windows: it reminded me of the kind of house Lindsay had been brought up in. The garage doors were open and I could see a gleaming little red Honda sitting inside. Sirius sat frozen, staring at the house for so long that I was beginning to wonder who we'd come to spy on when he suddenly reached for the door handle. I opened my door too, but he turned with a shocked expression on his face.

"No … no, you can't come!" he protested.

I turned to him. "Sorry, Princess, I'm under strict orders not to take my eyes off you. Especially when we're out."

"For fuck's sake!" It was a cry of pure frustration. "It's not a bar … it's not a club … it's just a fucking house! What could happen to me?"

"I don't know," I replied easily, "because you haven't told me why you're here. So why don't you try explaining to me?"

"I can't …" He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. I couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight spangled it with glints of gold. "Listen. There's someone here I have to see, and I have to do it alone. If you want to tell Gary, then there's nothing I can do to stop you." He turned his blue gaze on me with something like desperation. "Please … just give me ten minutes. You have my word I'll be right back."

I looked at him. I remembered what the Sap had said about the kid being a manipulative little liar, but if that's what he was doing then he was also one damn fine actor. I decided, as always, to go with my gut feeling. "Okay. Ten minutes. Then I'm coming to get you."

Sirius was already half way out of the Jeep, obviously afraid I'd changed my mind. I watched him cross the street and then walk hesitantly towards the house, rising on his toes a little as if readying himself to run. His whole body language spoke of tension and he kept glancing down the road as if he was looking for somebody. Eventually he made it to the front door, rang the bell and then waited, chewing his nail until the door opened. A slim blonde woman stood there, smartly dressed in country casuals, and I could see the incredulous joy written clear on her face even from where I was sitting. Then she threw her arms round Sirius and hugged him as if she would never let him go.

Well, I guess the Sap was lying when he said that Sirius had been disowned by his family and had no contact with them. Because if that lady wasn't the kid's mother I'd eat the Armani Spring Collection.

* * *

Ten minutes later the front door re-opened and Sirius appeared, the blonde woman beside him, and it looked as if he was trying to dissuade her from coming over to the Jeep. He must have succeeded because after a while they embraced, parted reluctantly, and then he was walking towards me with his shoulders hunched and his hands thrust deep into his pockets while his mother craned her head behind him, seemingly intent on peering at my car. He got in and I moved off, and she waved happily from the porch as we drove away. I cocked an eye at Sirius, who was sitting silent and morose in the passenger seat.

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

"No. Want to give me a cigarette?"

"What makes you think I smoke?"

He gave me a _duh_ look. "I can smell it." He was right. I'd grabbed the chance for a cigarette while he was inside.

"I thought you'd given up?"

"This is a special occasion."

Well, the Sap hadn't specifically told me not to let him smoke. I dug out my Marlboroughs and my lighter and passed them over. He took out a cigarette, lit it and then leaned his head back against the rest, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and closing his eyes.

"Jesus …" he whispered.

"That your Mom?" He didn't answer so I tried again. "I thought you weren't on speaking terms with your folks."

"What the fuck is it to do with you?" He still had his eyes closed.

The weariness in his voice robbed the words of most of their sting so I restrained myself from reaching over and clipping him round the ear. "Nothing at all," I replied. "Just trying to make conversation."

There was silence for a while. Then he asked quietly, "So, are you going to tell Gary?"

"Why should I? You want to visit your folks … like you said, that's none of my business. Or his." I glanced at him. "I'm here because my senior partner insisted on it. I'll do what I'm contracted to do, which is to make sure you're still in one piece when the Sap gets back. That doesn't make me his fucking spy."

He opened his eyes and quirked a brow at me. "The Sap?"

"Slip of the tongue," I told him.

He actually laughed a little. Not much, but enough to make my gaze linger on the soft curve of his lips as he smiled. It was nice.

This time the silence was a little more comfortable. When he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and started talking again I was surprised.

"My Dad's the one with a problem about who I am and what I want to do with my life, not Mom. That's why I wanted to come today … Dad usually spends his Saturdays at Hickory Heights with his golf buddies so I figured there'd be a good chance he wasn't around."

"And your Mom's happy about what you're doing?"

"Oh, she's ecstatic for me." Was it my imagination or was there a slight tremor in the words? Sirius leaned his head back and closed his eyes again. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

So we didn't. But he'd given me something else to think about.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

It was late morning by the time we got back to the _Starlight_ and my stomach was beginning to protest at my neglect, so I was planning on checking out the restaurant luncheon menu as soon as we got inside. But after I'd parked the Jeep and got out Sirius remained sitting where he was, gazing up at the building with something like despair on his face.

"I don't want to go back in there yet."

I craned my neck to look down at him. "Sorry, Princess, but you're the one who dragged me out without breakfast. I'm hungry."

He turned towards me. "Well, we could eat somewhere else, couldn't we? You must know plenty of places. You'd have to pay, though … Gary probably explained that he handles all my finances. I don't know what he's arranged with you but I guess you're getting expenses, so you just need to keep the receipt."

"I do know how expenses work, thank you."

He frowned, mistaking the reason for my reluctance. "Look, I don't care whether you buy me anything to eat or not. You can get me a coffee or something. Or nothing. I'll just sit and watch you eat."

I snorted. "I can afford to buy you a meal whether I claim it back or not. _That's _not what I'm worried about."

He looked puzzled. "Then what's the problem?"

"Well, look at it from my point of view. Once you're back in the penthouse I can relax and eat lunch in peace. Whereas if I take you somewhere I'm going to have to be looking over my shoulder the whole time to make sure you haven't slipped out of the back door."

Sirius let out a long breath. "What the fuck has Gary told you?" he demanded. "That I'm an alcoholic or some fucking junkie you can't trust out of your sight? You think I shoot shit like crack or crystal?"

I shrugged, feeling a little awkward before the anger in his blue eyes. I got back in the Jeep and faced him. "He implied something of the sort."

"Oh, I'm sure. He's very good at _implying._" Sirius shoved up the sleeves of his hoodie and held his arms out. "See any track marks? No. I'm not a fucking _addict_!"

"Then why did he tell me he has to lock his stash away so you can't get it? How come he's got a dry bar up there?"

"Because …" Sirius tugged his sleeves back down. "Okay, look. Gary's kind of demanding about my career, I'm sure you've realised that. He has a very definite idea of the direction I need to take and sometimes we don't see eye to eye. In fact, sometimes he drives me fucking bugshit and we end up screaming at each other! And in the beginning, when I first moved in, it was really hard. Christ, I'd never even left home before! So yes, there was one time I raided his stash and, yeah, I got a little wasted, I admit it. So he totally freaked out and over-reacted, and now he won't trust me with anything."

Somehow I couldn't see Saperstein making such a big deal about the kid just getting a little wasted, but then I'd seen for myself how obsessive he was about his starlet's well-being so perhaps the idea wasn't too far-fetched. "What about the times you got arrested? Was he over-reacting about that, too?"

"Basically, yes. So I get a little loud when I've been drinking, who doesn't? Didn't you ever get pulled in by the cops when you were young, or have you always been too much of a goody two-shoes for that?"

I blinked at him. I didn't know what pissed me off more, the idea that I'd _ever_ been a goody-two shoes or that he obviously considered me _old. _"If you knew the first thing about me, Princess, you wouldn't even ask that question."

"I know as much about you as you know about me, and yet you're happy to make assumptions," he shot back. "And my name isn't fucking _Princess, _so stop calling me it!"

"Well, I'm not calling you fucking _Sirius, _because that's the lamest, most pretentious name I've ever fucking come across!"

We sat and glared at each other for a while.

"Okay. Fine." He hit the handle and flung the door open. "Come and lock me safely back up … _Warden._" He slammed the door shut behind him hard enough to rock the Jeep and started stomping off across the car park.

Ouch. That fucking stung … of all the insults he could have thrown at me, that was about the worst. I watched his retreating figure for a moment, and then I was out of the Jeep and hurrying after him.

"Hey." I grabbed his arm and hauled him around to face me. "I thought you wanted to go somewhere for lunch?"

He looked up at me and I found myself staring transfixed at the sudden blaze of hope in his eyes.

"Really?" he whispered.

I sighed, hoping I hadn't just made a huge mistake. "Yeah, really. Now get back in the fucking car."

* * *

I still don't understand why I thought that taking him to the Liberty Diner was a good idea.

We parked down the street and Sirius got out of the Jeep and stood there gawking around, a delighted expression on his face. "This is Liberty Avenue, right? Oh my God, I've always wanted to come here!"

"Well, don't make an exhibition of yourself. Haven't you seen two guys holding hands before?"

"Not in public! And is that a man or a woman?" He was goggling at a queen in leopard-skin lycra shimmying down the street, a pink-dyed poodle mincing beside her.

"Don't point, for fuck's sake! If you're going to behave like a fucking tourist I'll take you home. I have to face these people every day, so don't embarrass me."

"Really?" His eyes were bugging out as he trotted beside me. "You live around here?"

I nodded. "On the corner of Fuller and Tremont."

"Oh my God, I am so jealous." I threw a glance at his excited face and hid my smile: the sulky brat had turned into a little kid in a sweet shop.

I opened the Diner door and ushered him inside. The first people I saw were Mikey and Emmett sitting in a booth by the window and their eyes immediately zeroed in on my companion. I sighed and led the way over, knowing that they'd only follow us if I didn't.

"Well, hello!" Emmett cooed, his gaze running up and down Sirius' body. "And who do we have here?"

I sat down next to Mikey and performed the introductions. "Emmett Honeycutt, Sirius. Sirius, Emmett Honeycutt."

"Sirius?" Emmett echoed, sliding across with alacrity to make space for the kid. "What a divine name! And how appropriate for such a divine young man!"

"With the emphasis very much on 'young'!" Mikey said, looking aghast. "Since when did you start robbing cradles, Brian?"

"Since never," I replied sharply. "Sirius is one of _Vangard's_ clients - or to be more accurate, his manager, Gary Saperstein, is. Sirius, this is Michael Novotny."

"Pleased to meet you," Mikey said, still eyeing the kid doubtfully.

"Gary Saperstein? Of the _Starlight_?" Emmett asked.

Sirius nodded. "I sing there."

"Oooh," Emmett gasped, batting his eyelids. "How exciting! And tell me, sugar, do you sound anything like as good as you look?"

"Um, I guess," Sirius replied, blushing a little and throwing a bemused glance at me. He obviously wasn't used to being hit on so I smiled back at him reassuringly.

"Oh, you must be that kid Ted was talking about!" Mikey said through a mouthful of pancakes. "You remember, Em … Wertschafter's Christmas party was at the _Starlight_ and Ted wouldn't stop raving about him for weeks."

"That's right! He was completely smitten with you, honey!" Emmett waved his fork at Sirius. "And that's quite a compliment because if there's one thing Teddy knows about – other than taxes – it's singing."

I made up my mind then and there to keep Sirius well out of Theodore's way: the last thing I needed was that sad sack hanging around making puppy eyes at the kid. But before I could say anything Debbie arrived, clutching her order pad. "And who the fuck's this?" she demanded, cocking her head at Sirius.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "This is Sirius. Sirius, this is Michael's mom, Debbie."

Sirius looked up at her with wide eyes: I was pretty certain he'd never in his life seen a waitress whose vest was covered in buttons with slogans like _Honk If You Bonk _and_ My Other Dick's A Dildo._ Debbie returned his gaze, snapping her gum, and I saw the precise moment when she melted and joined the legion of his other female admirers. "Aw," she said, reaching down to pat his cheek with a scarlet-nailed hand. "I couldn't call a little sweetheart like this by a name like that!"

"He's a singer, Deb!" Emmett announced.

"He's too fucking skinny, that's what he is!" Debbie replied, thrusting a menu into Sirius' hands. "You order up, honey, and let's put some meat on those bones."

"Don't even bother trying to argue," I advised him. "But remember, whatever you _do_ order she'll end up doubling it."

"Which means you still won't eat enough to keep a bug alive, Mister!" Debbie sniffed.

Sirius looked up from the menu. "Umm … could I have a cheeseburger? Maybe some chilli fries?" he asked hesitantly.

Debbie beamed at him. "You want a coke to go with that? Or a shake?"

"A chocolate shake would be nice, thank you, ma'am."

A burst of laughter followed that little speech and Debbie rounded on us, eyes flashing. "Don't you let me hear any more of that from you smart-asses! What? You think it's funny because this young man has some fucking manners?" She leaned over and whacked Mikey with her pad.

"Ow, Ma!" He rubbed his head and glared at her. "How come I'm the only one who gets hit?"

"Because I obviously didn't do it enough when I was raising you!" Deb turned back to Sirius with a fond smile. "Your order's coming right up, baby." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Same as usual, your Majesty?"

"Thanks, Deb." I waited until she'd moved away before chuckling. "That's our Debbie. Don't worry, she does grow on you."

"Hey, asshole, that's my Mom you're talking about," Mikey said, kicking my foot.

"Yep. You going to deny she's a little overwhelming?"

"Like a tsunami!" Emmett agreed.

"Well, at least she cares," Mikey muttered.

"Oh, she does that."

"Have you guys known each other for a long time?" Sirius asked.

"Sixteen years," Mikey answered proudly. "I've been Brian's best friend since High School."

"Wow." Sirius stared at me. "So you must be … what? Thirty-five?"

Emmett snorted his coffee and began to choke.

"Fuck. You," I replied, giving him the finger. "I'm thirty."

"Oh." The little twat didn't seem to appreciate the difference so I glared at him.

"Brian," Emmett said, recovering himself and wiping his eyes. "Are you coming to _Woody's_ tonight?"

"Who's Woody?" Sirius asked.

"It's a place, not a person," Mikey explained, rolling his eyes. "It's a gay bar, down the street from _Babylon_."

"What's _Babylon_?"

"A gay night club. Jesus, don't you know _anything_?"

"I've never been to Liberty Avenue before. Wow." The kid's eyes widened, and what do you know? They sparkled just like I thought they would. "I've never even seen a gay club, let alone been in one."

"Ooh!" Emmett squeaked. "Of course! It's Karaoke Night! Why don't you come along? You can sing for us! Teddy will be _thrilled!_"

Okay, time to nip that idea right in the bud. "Don't even think about it, Honeycutt. Sirius is singing at the _Starlight _tonight. He's _not_ going to be taking part in some crummy karaoke show at _Woody's_!"

Emmett pouted. "Well, what about afterwards?"

"No!" I snapped, aware of a pair of blue eyes regarding me that had definitely lost their sparkle – in fact, they'd reverted straight back to salt-on-a-slug mode.

Further conversation was cut short by the timely arrival of Debbie, bearing my sandwich and a tottering plate of burgers and fries for Sirius. "Here you go, honey … and these are the best chilli fries on Liberty Avenue, though I say so myself!"

Sirius stared at the Leaning Tower of burgers before him and then turned to her with a brilliant smile. "Wow, thanks, Debbie!" he exclaimed.

"Look at that, like a ray of sunshine," she said wonderingly. Then her face lit up. "That's it! Sunshine! That's who you are!"

Seeing him smile like that, I thought she might just be right.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

"No! I don't care if you _have _got a sore throat, you are _not_ cancelling your fucking show! We're going back to the penthouse right now and you're staying there until 9 o'clock this evening!"

Who would have thought that such a pretty face could wear such a mulish expression?

"_No_?" Sirius echoed incredulously. "So what are you going to do … drag me out of here by force? And then what? You can't physically _make _me sing!"

"Wanna bet?" I snarled, grabbing him by the arm and trying to wrestle him out of the booth. He responded by twisting away and stomping on my foot, hard. Mikey and Emmett looked on with their mouths open.

"I'll scream for the cops and get you arrested for kidnapping!" Sirius shouted, crowding back against Emmett. "I'm an adult and you can't make me do anything I don't want to do!"

"What the fuck's going on?" Debbie demanded, arriving at the closest thing she had to a run. "Brian, what are you trying to do to that boy?"

Sirius obviously knew an ally when he saw one. "He's trying to make me sing tonight when I don't feel up to it," he told her, his blue eyes wide and upset. "My throat's really sore, but he won't listen!"

"If your throat's sore, it's because of all the yelling you're doing," I growled, trying to grab him again. Instead I found myself face-to-face with a furious Momma Bear in a red wig.

"Don't you touch that boy, asshole, unless you want _me_ to deal with!" she snapped, jabbing me in the chest with a scarlet talon.

"My voice coach told me that the worst thing I could ever do was to try and sing with a sore throat," Sirius piped up in a suddenly croaky voice behind her. I glared at him over Deb's shoulder and damned if I couldn't see a smirk on the little fucker's face before she turned towards him and the kicked-puppy-dog expression slipped back into place. Deb squashed her ample butt onto the seat beside him and laid a hand on his forehead.

"You do feel a little hot, sweetie."

Sirius nodded agreement. "I feel kinda sick, too," he told her pathetically.

"I'm not surprised, after all those burgers," Mikey observed.

"For Christ's sake!" I slumped back on the bench. "There's nothing wrong with the little Princess, Deb, except that he doesn't want to perform tonight. But he's going to whether he likes it or not."

"And what gives you the right to make Sunshine's decisions for him?" Debbie demanded.

"Because that's my fucking job!" I shouted. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on him while Saperstein's out of town and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble. And that includes making sure he turns up for his fucking show!"

Debbie looked at me blankly. "What is he? Six? Besides, what kind of trouble could a little sweetie like this get in?"

I remembered asking Vance virtually the same question; it seemed I was beginning to find out.

"If you're supposed to be looking out for me then you shouldn't try to force me to sing when my throat is hurting," Sirius lectured. "What do you think Gary will say if he finds I've damaged my vocal chords because _you_ wouldn't listen?" He coughed a little and winced, rubbing his throat.

"Ooh, good point," Emmett said admiringly.

Manipulative little liar? It didn't even begin to describe the cunning, devious, opportunistic, unprincipled little shit sitting opposite, leaning against Debbie's motherly bosom and letting her stroke his hair like he was her long-lost baby.

"He's not going to do any such thing, Sunshine," she assured him tenderly. "Now, I tell you what: I'm gonna fetch you a nice glass of iced water and a couple of aspirin and you just sit there quietly until my shift finishes, which is only another half an hour. Then you can come home with me and lie down in Michael's old room until you feel better, and this asshole…" she jerked her head at me, "can call whoever he has to and cancel your show. How does that sound?"

"Really?" the little twat asked, with such doe-eyed gratitude that I nearly puked my turkey on rye. "That would be wonderful."

God give me strength. If we'd been on the street I'd have simply bundled him into the Jeep before he had a chance to yell for help, but he'd been clever enough to make sure he was surrounded by onlookers, any of whom might have been prepared to interfere if I really started to man-handle him. As for Debbie – well, I figured she'd probably knock me cold with the serving tray before she let me drag him out of the Diner against his will. This was exactly the kind of mess I'd dreaded when I'd first heard about the little shit.

She was bustling away now on her mission of mercy and I leaned over the table, glaring at him fiercely. "I thought I had your word that you wouldn't try anything?"

"I'm not," Sirius replied, all injured innocence. "It's not my fault if I don't feel well, is it?"

I was 99% sure the kid was lying through his white, shiny teeth but I couldn't see that there was much I could do to prove it at the moment. It looked like I'd have to let Debbie take charge temporarily, and maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing … I supposed it wouldn't do the kid any harm to have a little mothering for a change, particularly after the emotional visit to his own home earlier. If he was still claiming to feel ill I'd call his bluff and fetch a doctor, and if it turned out the brat _was _lying then I'd haul him back to the _Starlight _by his pretty little ear no matter what Deb thought about it. In the meantime I'd just have to stick to his side like glue, and make sure he didn't have any more opportunities to undermine me.

At least, that was what I told myself.

I sighed and dug out my cell to call the _Starlight_ and let them know they'd better find a replacement act for tonight.

* * *

"What the fuck's going on, Brian?" Saperstein was yelling. "Nobody was picking up at the penthouse so I called Reception and they said Sirius had cancelled his show tonight because he's not well! What's wrong with him and where the hell are you both?"

I set my teeth against the strident sound of his voice and took a firmer grip on my cell. "Nothing's wrong … he just got a sore throat and started a little fever."

"A sore throat?" he screamed. "Why the fuck would he have a sore throat? Jesus Christ, he was fine this morning!"

"It's probably just a virus, Gary; one of those twenty-four hour things, I expect. No reason to get yourself in a state. If he's no better tomorrow I'll call a doctor, okay?"

His voice changed a little. "A doctor … yeah, right … of course, if you need to. Only make sure you call my own personal physician … he's the only one I trust with the kid. His name's Stanton and he's number 7 on the penthouse phone speed dial: you'll go through to his cell, not the surgery. Explain you're calling for me, tell him what's wrong and he'll come out."

"Number 7 on the speed dial, got it."

"You still haven't told me where you are."

"We're at the penthouse, Gary, where else?" I was surprised how easy I was with lying to him. "Sirius is asleep so he probably turned the phone off. And I've been in the gym for the last hour."

Vic was sitting in his armchair reading; he looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows. Beyond him I saw Debbie coming down the stairs; she picked up the house phone from the hall table and started back up with it.

"Oh." The Sap sounded a little mollified. "Okay, but you should have let me know what was going on, Brian. I was imagining all kinds of shit. If you have any more problems with Sirius I expect you to call me at once … if I can't pick up then leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP."

"I was going to call you as soon as I got back to the suite," I lied again. "You beat me to it."

"Well, don't let it happen again. I'm going to call first thing in the morning to find out how he is, and I'll want to speak to Sirius too … if he's still sick I'll cancel my meetings and fly home tomorrow."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," I told him truthfully.

"He'd better be," Saperstein snapped, "or I shall hold both you and _Vangard_ responsible."

I sighed and put my cell away. Vic closed his book and took off his spectacles.

"The kid's manager, I presume?"

"Yeah, that was the Sap."

"Sounds a little over-protective." He grinned. "Not that I can blame him, of course."

"I don't know. I get a weird vibe off the guy." I sat forward on the couch. "You know anything about him, Vic?"

"I've read a few articles about him since he opened the _Starlight._ I know he ran some big nightclubs before he came to Pittsburgh, but he seems to keep the rest of his background pretty much under wraps."

"How the fuck did a loser like that get enough money to renovate that place?"

Vic shrugged. "Drugs or the Mob, according to who you talk to. Personally I'd vote for drugs: I doubt there's a Gay Mafia yet, no matter what the Republicans think."

I'd put my money on it, too. I stood up. "Well, I'd better go and let the Princess know his lord and master called … and what the cover story is."

Vic chuckled. "He's already got Debbie wound round his little finger and now he's got you lying for him. Looks like a dangerous character, your little Sirius."

"He's not mine. I get to give him back, thank God."

I headed for the stairs and met Debbie on the way down. "Is he awake?"

"Yeah, he asked for the phone so he could call his band and let them know not to turn up tonight."

"Why didn't he use his cell?"

"Says he hasn't got one." She fixed me with a basilisk eye as I tried to pass her. "And don't give him a hard time, asshole. He's still feeling under the weather."

He'd be feeling a damn sight worse if I had anything to do with it. I climbed the rest of the stairs and turned down the hall towards Mikey's room, but I stopped when I heard the kid's voice. He was talking softly, but thanks to the paper-thin walls in Debbie's house I could still hear him clearly. He sounded weary, the same way he had that first night when he'd been talking to Saperstein in his dressing room.

"Ethan, it'll be okay. Don't worry about it. Yeah, I know. I know, alright? Look, I've got a sore throat. I can't sing. What's he going to do?"

Ethan. My mind went back to the kid with the violin, the one who couldn't take his eyes off Sirius. Yep, it had to be him.

"Whatever," Sirius said, sounding irritated now. "I could give a fuck. I've told you, it's my business … yeah, it is. And I don't need you to tell me that. Look, just tell the guys I'm sorry and I'll see them next week. Yeah. Bye."

Interesting. Okay, it hadn't sounded like a conversation between two lovers, but it hadn't sounded as if the kid was talking to a complete stranger, either. There was a level of intimacy between them, a hint of shared knowledge … but of what? I waited a minute and then walked up to the bedroom door and stuck my head in. Sirius was lying on his back, looking more youthful than ever under Mikey's Captain Astro quilt.

"Just thought I'd let you know, you're busted. Saperstein called the _Starlight_, so he knows you're not singing tonight."

"Was he pissed?"

"You could say so. I told him you'd lost your voice and were sleeping, and you'd probably turned the phone off. But he wants to talk to you first thing in the morning."

"I'm sure he does."

I crossed to the bed and looked down at him. "Don't think you're fooling me, Princess. It was a very clever idea to enrol Florence Novotny as your guard dog, but you're going back to the _Starlight_ in the morning to face the music with Saperstein whatever you say. I'm not lying for you again."

"I never asked you to," he said quietly, turning his blue gaze to my face. "You don't know what it's like to be shut up there with Gary day after day, knowing that the only times you _do_ get out you'll never be alone, or doing the things you want to do. He'll still be right there, watching every fucking move you make."

Well, put like that, I could hardly blame him for grabbing any opportunity for escape with both hands. But then I reminded myself what a consummate little liar he was and hardened my heart. After all, he was in this position of his own free will, wasn't he?

"That's the trouble when you sell your soul to the devil," I told him. "You were prepared to pay the price for stardom … it's no good whining about it now."

His eyes … shut down. There's no other way of describing how every flicker of emotion died out of them, of how dead and cold they looked. "You think you're so smart but you have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," he said. "Now fuck off and leave me alone. I want to sleep." He turned his back to me and pulled the quilt up around his ears.

_Hard truth always hurts, Sunshine_, I thought as I closed the door behind me and made my way back downstairs. I knew I'd pissed him off but I told myself he deserved it. I suppose I shouldn't really have been surprised when Debbie went up to check on him a couple of hours later only to find the bed empty and the window open. The little shit had sneaked out by the same route I'd always used on clandestine visits to Mikey all those years ago when we were kids.

I shouldn't have been surprised by that, either.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I drove around a long time looking for him. After all, he'd hardly have returned to the _Starlight_ when he'd gone to such lengths to get away from it and he wouldn't have been able to get into the penthouse even if he had. I couldn't begin to imagine the conversation I was going to have with the Sap when he found out I'd lost his precious star the first night I had charge of him and I was in pretty much of a cold sweat by the time I ended up back on Liberty Avenue, scouring the crowds wandering past _Woody's_ on their way to the clubs and double-checking every blond head I saw.

That's when I spotted the poster:

KARAOKE NIGHT TONIGHT! COME AND SHOW US WHAT YOU'VE GOT!

Bingo.

I parked the Jeep and hurried into the bar, taking the steps two at a time. I used my height to scan the crowd and it wasn't more than a few seconds before I spotted my quarry, seated at a table near the stage with Mikey, Ben, Emmett and Ted, all laughing and smiling and generally having a really good time.

I strode over to them and stood right behind the little shit. "Brian!" Mikey greeted me happily. "I thought you weren't coming!"

"Neither did I," I replied grimly.

Sirius craned his head to look up at me. "Whoops," he said. "The Warden's arrived."

Again there was that sharp, painful sting. I glared at him. "Okay, Princess, let's get your ass out of here."

"Excuse me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Adult, remember? Allowed to be here?"

"Not adult enough to be drinking," I reminded him, nodding at the bottle of Budd he was holding.

"It's Em's," he said defiantly. "I was just taking a sip." He put the bottle down in front of Emmett, who looked suitably guilty. Mind, if I'd have been wearing a pink Angora beret to match my pink Angora sweater I'd have looked pretty guilty too.

"Lessons in sobriety from Brian Kinney?" Ted smirked. "Who'd believe it?"

"Yeah, loosen up, Bri," Mikey said, throwing an arm around Ben's shoulders. "The kid's not doing any harm. We've been keeping an eye on him."

Yeah, like I'd trust my friends to keep an eye on a fucking gold fish. "What happened to your sore throat?" I demanded.

"It got better."

"So you thought you'd just take off for a little fresh air … via the fucking window."

"No, I thought I'd go and spend a couple of hours relaxing in a bar to which I'd been invited. I left by the fucking window because _you_ wouldn't have let me leave by the front door!"

Christ. How come every time I opened my mouth around this kid _I_ was the one who ended up looking like an asshole? I gave up and headed for the bar to order myself a stiff drink.

* * *

There was an overweight guy on the stage delivering an excruciating rendition of _I Will Survive,_ I was on my second Beam and a hot red-head down the bar was giving me the eye when Emmett arrived.

"Sorry, Brian. He just turned up … what could I do?" he asked plaintively. "Besides, I felt sorry for him – he says he hasn't got any friends and he never does anything except sing and practice. Why shouldn't he have a little fun if he wants to?"

Why indeed, except that _having fun_ didn't seem to be on the kid's agenda as far as the Sap was concerned. And talking of fun … the red-head was licking his lips seductively and I hadn't had a fuck in over 24 hours. I fixed Emmett with an icy stare.

"Okay, Honeycutt, I'm trusting you to watch him for five minutes. _Do not _let him out of your sight for a second … and that includes going to the john. If he disappears before I get back, I'm going to tie your balls in a knot. Get it?"

"Um, yes. I get it," he agreed nervously.

"Good. Now go and stand somewhere else … you're embarrassing me."

I headed for the washroom, giving the red-head a slight nod as I passed. I didn't bother to check that he was following but waited inside the washroom door until he came in, then grabbed him by the belt and towed him into the nearest stall. Normally I only got blowjobs at _Woody's_ because there wasn't much room in the stalls for fucking, but tonight I was frustrated and angry so I had the guy pressed up against the door with his pants round his ankles before he had time to say a word. Not that he was complaining any, if the muffled cries of _Oh God, yeah!_ and _Harder! Harder!_ were anything to go by. I got us both off in record time and pulled out of him, then zipped up and went to wash my hands, feeling much more relaxed and ready to take up my little blond burden again. That feeling lasted only as long as it took me to open the washroom door and register a familiar voice blaring through the speakers: a voice far too tuneful and professional to have come from any of the regulars.

"…_cause she's hoping to score_

_So I can't see her letting him go,_

_Walk out of her heart, _

_Walk out of her mind…"_

Sirius was up on the stage, singing into the mike with a gusto I could never have imagined from the previous performances I'd witnessed. He'd ditched his hoodie and was now clad in the skimpy red crop-top he'd evidently been wearing beneath it, exposing a lot of smooth, creamy belly. His faded jeans rode low on his slender hips and Emmett's fluffy pink beret was perched jauntily on his head.

"_She's so swishy in her satin and tat,_

_In her frock-coat and bibberty-bobberty hat…"_

He saw me standing at the bar and made a pouty little face at me.

"_Oh God, I could do better than that…"_

The whole bar was bopping along with him. There was laughter and a few ironic cheers aimed in my direction.

"_She's an old-time ambassador_

_Of sweet-talking, night-walking games_

_And she's known in the darkest clubs_

_For pushing ahead of the dames,_

_If she says she can do it, then she can do it,_

_She don't make false claims._

_But she's a Queen, and such are queens_

_That your laughter is sucked in their brains._

_Now she's leading him on and she'll lay him right down,_

_But it could have been me, yes it could have been me,_

_Why didn't I say? Why didn't I say_

_No, no, no…"_

A moustachioed Leather Daddy turned to me and grinned. "_Bitch Queen_, huh, Kinney? The kid's sure got you pegged." I gave him a death-glare before striding over to the table where I'd left Sirius and collaring Emmett, who was on his feet and bouncing up and down in a paroxysm of ecstasy. "What the fuck, Honeycutt?" I yelled above the din. "I told you to keep an eye on him!"

"I'm keeping _both_ eyes on him, just like everyone else!" Emmett retorted. Sirius was performing a little swirly dance, shimmying his hips and making his pert little ass jiggle appealingly. "You go, girl!" Emmett shrieked, while Ted whistled his appreciation and the rest of the bar howled.

"_So I lay down a while and I gaze at my hotel wall_

_Oh, the cot is so cold it don't feel like no bed at all_

_Yeah, I lay down a while and I look at my hotel wall_

_But he's down in the street so I throw both his bags down the hall_

_And I'm phoning a cab 'cos my stomach feels small_

_There's a taste in my mouth and it's no taste at all._

_It could have been me, oh yeah it could have been me,_

_Why didn't I say? Why didn't I say_

_No, no, no …_

_She's so swishy in her satin and tat,_

_In her frock-coat and bibberty-bobberty hat,_

_Oh God, I could do better than that…"_

Sirius finished the song and the bar erupted with raucous cheers and whistles. He swept off Emmett's beret in a low bow and jumped off the stage, landing a little unsteadily, and made his way through the crowd towards us with a huge grin on his face, accepting compliments and congratulations as he came. He was also accepting lots of folded slips of paper which were being pressed into his hands or tucked into his jeans' pockets.

"See!" Theodore was on his feet, applauding wildly. "I told you he was great, didn't I? Bravo! Bravo!"

"Here's your hat back, Em," Sirius said, presenting it.

"Oh Baby, I'll never wash it again," Emmett said, clutching the hideous item to his heart. "Some day it'll be worth _thousands!"_

"Bowie himself couldn't have sung that better," Ben smiled. "And I don't say that lightly, because I'm a huge admirer."

"Sorry to bust up your little fanfest," I said coldly, reaching to grab the paper slips out of Sirius' hands and pockets, "but I'll take these."

"They're mine!" the kid protested, trying to hang on to them. He looked up at me a little hazily. "What are they?"

"The numbers of guys who want to fuck that sweet little ass of yours," I snapped, dropping them in the ash tray and setting fire to them with my lighter.

"Really?" His face lit up until he saw what I was doing. "Hey…"

"Hey, nothing." I glared at Emmett. "How much has he had to drink?"

"Only a couple of beers, Brian, I swear."

Well, probably that was all it took if you were a twink midget.

I grabbed his elbow. "Come on, Princess. Time to go home, so say goodnight."

He lifted his chin defiantly. "Don't want to."

I leaned down so that I was right in his face. "Then I'll fucking carry you, you spoilt little brat," I hissed. "But I'll spank you first, in front of all these people. You haven't got Deb to protect you now, this is _my_ patch. And _you'll_ be the one looking stupid."

He apparently wasn't drunk enough not to realise that I wasn't kidding. He snatched up his hoodie and pulled it on, exposing yet more skin as he wriggled into it: Ted's eyes were glued to the trail of golden hairs beneath his belly button and I could see him practically drooling. I was getting angrier by the second, so as soon as Sirius was dressed I grabbed him by the scruff and steered him towards the exit, followed by a chorus of hisses and boos. The fact that just about everybody in the bar assumed the little twat was some trick I was fucking didn't make me any happier. He managed to wriggle out of my grip while I was struggling to open the bar door and backed out onto the steps that led to the sidewalk, where he stood at bay.

"So you don't approve of what I sing, either!"

"Oh, I liked the song fine," I replied. "I just didn't like your reason for singing it." I took a step forward and he backed away, looking ready to bolt. "Don't you fucking dare run away from me," I warned, taking another pace towards him.

"Or what? You planning to use your belt on me?" he demanded, warily keeping his distance.

"It'd be no more than you deserve, you little shit!" I made a grab for him and I saw a flash of genuine fear in his eyes as he skittered backwards out of reach. Unfortunately he wasn't watching where he was putting his feet so he backed straight off the top step, losing his balance and coming down hard on his right knee.

"Sirius!" I reached him in a stride and gripped his arms, pulling him up. His face was white as paper.

"Fuck …" he whispered. "Oh, fuck…"

I looked down and saw a rip in his jeans below his knee, already darkening with blood. I tightened my hold. "Can you put any weight on that?" I asked urgently.

He tried to take a step but then shook his head quickly, biting his lips. I found I really didn't like the idea of his being hurt, especially when it had been kind of my fault, and I liked it even less when I saw the bright track of tears on his cheeks.

"Hey, it's okay." I slipped my right arm around him. "Lean on me, Sunshine. The Jeep's just here."

He hopped and hobbled down the steps beside me, gasping with pain every time his knee jarred. We made it to the Jeep and I half-lifted him into the passenger seat and buckled him in, while he sat with his right leg rigidly extended, gripping his thigh tightly. I could see that the knee was already swelling, stretching the material of his jeans. I thought of the long drive back to the _Starlight_ and didn't even consider it. I started up the Jeep, made a U turn and headed straight for the Loft.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

I lowered him carefully onto the bed and helped him lift his injured leg. He let me remove his sneakers but when I reached for the fly of his jeans he batted my hand away.

Well, that was a first … a gay man who didn't want me to take his pants off. "Don't be a twat. Let me see the damage."

"It's fine," Sirius insisted, even though his voice was shaking and he was still as pale as a ghost. "I just need to rest it for a while."

Oh God. Why had I been saddled with this kid? "It's not fine," I replied as patiently as I could, pointing to the bloody tear in his jeans. "That might need stitches – at the very least it's going to need cleaning. Now would you please – just for _once _- please show the most miniscule particle of co-operation and let me help you, okay?"

He let out a long breath, and then to my relief he did as he was told and reluctantly unbuttoned his fly. He lifted his ass to push the jeans over his hips, wincing as he did so, and I helped him extricate his good leg before easing the material over his damaged knee.

And here was another first: a hot little twink on my bed, on his back with his pants off, and with no likelihood whatsoever of getting my dick up his ass. I tore my gaze away from his thighs and focussed my attention on the area I should have been looking at. I'd seen plenty of knee injuries during my soccer playing years at college and this one didn't look good: it had already swollen to twice its normal size, and there was an ugly purple gouge taken out of the skin at the top of his shin which was still sullenly oozing blood. "Can you bend it at all?" I asked.

He tried but took a sharp hissing breath and hurriedly shook his head.

"We'd better get you to the hospital," I told him.

His eyes flew up to me. "No fucking way," he snapped.

Well, so much for co-operation. "Look, a swelling this bad probably means something's torn … the cartilage or a tendon. You might even have fractured your knee cap. You're going to need an x ray, Sunshine."

"I'm _not_ going to the fucking hospital!"

Oh, fuck this. Time to lay the law down again. "You are if I say so. I'm responsible for you, remember? You were the one banging on about how Gary would have my balls if I let you sing with a sore throat … well, what the fuck do you think he's going to say when he sees this?"

Sirius laughed mirthlessly. "He wouldn't want you to take me to the hospital, I can guarantee that." He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "He won't be back for days yet … it'll probably have gone down by the time he gets to see it."

"And if it hasn't?"

"Gary's got a pet doctor." I raised my eyebrows at that description, but his eyes were still shut so he didn't notice. "You can tell him to come and take a look at it."

"Fine. Have it your own way." I'd had enough of his stubbornness; if he wanted to lie there all night with a shattered kneecap that was his problem. On the other hand I wasn't prepared to let the little twat bleed all over my sheets so I left him to his own devices and stomped into the bathroom in search of first aid. I grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the cold faucet, dug out some antiseptic cream and a box of plasters from the medicine cabinet, found a clean towel and went back to the bedroom. He was lying as I'd left him, with his back propped against the wall and his pale legs stretched out. I sat down on the mattress beside him and began to dab at the wound on his shin.

"_Ow_ … fuck," he hissed.

"Sorry." I was. I tried to be gentler. "It's not too deep … you've just taken a lot of skin off."

"I scraped it down the step when I slipped."

"What were you afraid of?"

He wouldn't look at me. "Who says I was afraid?"

"You jumped away like I was a fucking rattlesnake. That was a kind of clue."

"I was drunk. I slipped."

"You weren't _that_ drunk." I dropped the washcloth and used the towel to dab the skin dry before uncapping the tube of ointment and squeezing it carefully over the wound. "Did you think I was going to hurt you?"

"You said you were."

"I didn't mean it, twat. I was pissed at you, that's all."

"Because I sang _Bitch Queen._"

"Because I don't like people laughing at me." I tore open a plaster and pressed it gently over the top of the gouge in his skin: I figured I'd probably need four or five to cover it completely. "It's a bad character flaw, I'm aware … but there you are."

"I really didn't mean to embarrass you."

I snorted. "I really think you did. Like you hadn't embarrassed me enough already."

"When?" He actually sounded curious.

"That scene you pulled in the Diner. Dragging Debbie into your little scheme. Oh, and let's not forget your Houdini act, after you gave me your _fucking word_ that you wouldn't pull anything." I used a little more pressure than I'd intended on a plaster and he flinched. "Or how about letting all my friends know I got out-smarted by a little blond twink? And have you any idea how embarrassed I _would_ have been, having to tell my senior partner and your manager that I'd let you escape out of a fucking window and I had no idea where you'd gone?"

"I thought you'd guess where I was," he protested. "If you hadn't shown up I'd have got one of your friends to call you."

"Which only proves my point. So if this whole little escapade was designed to make me look stupid, congratulations. You did a bang-up job."

"God, you're an arrogant bastard, aren't you?" he asked wonderingly. "You really believe that everything revolves around you! Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't thinking about you at all! I'm eighteen years old and I've never been in a nightclub except for the _Starlight_, and that's only when I'm singing there. So I wanted to go to a bar and just hang out with people_ … _so I wanted to know what it was like to laugh, to feel normal. So fucking shoot me."

"In other words you're a selfish little shit and you don't give damn what kind of a merry fucking dance you led me."

He smiled fleetingly. "Have you ever read _The Iliad?"_

"Homer? No."

"_Sirius rises late in the dark, liquid sky_

_On summer nights, star of stars._

_Orion's Dog they call it, brightest_

_Of all, but an evil portent, bringing heat_

_And fevers to suffering humanity," _he quoted.

I remembered he'd scored 1500 on his SATs. "Is that how you see yourself?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter how _I _see myself, I already told you that."

"Ah yes. It's Gary's image, not yours. It was _never_ yours."

I had his attention now. "Well?" I asked, looking up at him. "Aren't you going to tell me how Gary knows best, how he's only doing what's right for your career?"

He was silent.

I stuck the last plaster onto his leg and stood up. I returned the medical supplies to the bathroom and dumped the bloodied towel and washcloth in the hamper before going in search of ice; I pulled a bag of cubes out of the freezer, found a Ziploc in a drawer and filled it, wrapped it in a clean tea towel to make a crude compress and carried it back to the bedroom. I lifted his leg as carefully as I could in order to wrap the compress around his knee, and that was when I saw the marks on the inside of his thigh … marks that would have been fresh red welts a few days ago but which had now darkened to purple bruises. No need to ask what had caused them, and I now had the answer as to why the Sap wouldn't want him to go to hospital. I tied the tea towel loosely behind his knee, not wanting to put more pressure than necessary on the injury, and grabbed a couple of pillows to support his leg a little and make him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. It seemed to me that I might have been clenching my jaw harder than usual, but I figured that was probably just because I'd been concentrating.

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes.

He looked so fucking young and vulnerable lying there with the marks of tears still on his cheeks that I couldn't help myself reaching down to touch his hair.

His eyes flew open and he jerked his head away from my hand.

"It's okay," I told him softly. "I wasn't going to hurt you." I hated the mistrust in his face so I reached out again very slowly and brushed back a few strands from his forehead. "See? No harm, Sunshine."

He blinked a couple of times: he was still watching me warily but he wasn't pulling away, so I kept stroking his head until I felt him relax a little into my hand. "That knee must be hurting like hell. I think I've got some Ibuprofen … I'll get you a couple."

He shook his head. "The only thing I can take safely is aspirin. I'm allergic to lots of drugs, especially anything with codeine in it … fuck, I'm even allergic to Tylenol. I can't really take any drugs unless they've been prescribed for me."

Uh huh. "What about recreational drugs?"

He smiled a little. "I'm okay with weed. Everything else is pretty much off limits."

"I thought you said you'd raided the Sap's stash and got wasted?"

He didn't answer, and suddenly he wouldn't look at me either.

And I knew, as surely as if the answer had jumped from his brain straight into mine, that he'd done it deliberately. That was the reason why the Sap was afraid of leaving him alone: not because he thought the kid would fuck around, or get himself arrested, or any of the other bullshit reasons he'd given me … he was scared shitless that Sirius would try to off himself again if he got the chance.

I don't know how long I'd been sitting there, feeling his soft hair sifting through my fingers, when he suddenly spoke.

"Why are you acting so nice?"

The question took me by surprise and I stared back at him, my hand suddenly stilled. "Acting?" I echoed.

"You don't even like me." His voice was matter-of-fact.

I frowned at him. "What makes you think that?"

He raised his eyebrows at me. "_Selfish little shit. Spoilt little brat,_ remember?"

"Well, you were. And like I told you, I was pissed at you."

"Well, you can cut it out. I'm not going to let you fuck me."

If he'd surprised me before, now I was completely taken aback. "Why the hell do you think I want to fuck you?"

He actually laughed at me. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I've seen the way you look at me. Don't lie and pretend you're not interested."

Any nascent sympathy I'd felt for him was rapidly disappearing. "I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them," I snapped. "Sure, I'd fuck you, even though blond boy ass isn't really my thing. But before you start getting the idea that _that _makes you special in some way, forget it. I'd fuck _any_ guy who was even moderately hot. But unfortunately for you, you're never going to find out what you're missing because I have a standing rule not to get sexually involved with clients."

"Ooh, a man of principle," he sneered.

"No," I told him coldly. "Just a pragmatist."

"Then at least we have _something_ in common."

Fuck him. FUCK HIM! I jumped off the bed, grabbed a blanket from the closet and stalked down the steps from the bedroom, absolutely determined to say nothing more to the little shit. I'd made myself a bed on the couch before I suddenly realised that I hadn't even tried to find any aspirin for him and that from his point of view I'd probably just proved everything he'd said about how I'd only been taking care of him because I wanted to get in his tight little pants. That thought irritated me more than anything else.

Before I knew it I was standing over the bed again, clutching a glass of water and a strip of aspirin. "And even if I did want to fuck you, why the hell would you think I'd do it now?" I demanded, handing him the glass and popping out a couple of pills. "I generally prefer the guy I'm fucking to be groaning in pleasure, not pain."

He swallowed the aspirin and snorted. "Fucking always hurts, doesn't it? So what's the difference?"

It took me a moment to realise that he wasn't joking, and I felt something cold twist sickly in my gut. I stared at him, all my anger draining away, and it took me a while to find my voice. "Actually, fucking is _all _about pleasure," I said eventually. "Giving it as well as taking it. I'm not saying pain can't be part of the pleasure, but if causing pain to your partner is your only goal, then it's not fucking, it's rape. If you believe otherwise, then I really don't know what to say to you."

His blue eyes were utterly bleak. "I can only speak from experience."

I swallowed. I sat down and found my hand reaching out to his hair again: this time he didn't move away. "Does he hurt you when he fucks you, then?"

He gave that hard little laugh. "Oh, he doesn't fuck me. He can't. He can't fuck anyone. Sometimes I wish he could … maybe then he wouldn't have to do all the other shit to me so that he can get off."

Oh, I had such a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach; was the bastard positive or something, like Ben? Was this beautiful kid infected too? "What do you mean, he can't fuck anyone?"

"Ever heard of Peyronie's Disease?"

I shook my head.

"It's a deformity of the penis and it's actually quite common. Nobody really knows why it happens, whether it's because of scar tissue left by an infection or an injury, or whatever. It causes curvature of the penis. Usually it's not very noticeable and it doesn't cause any serious problems, but sometimes – like in Gary's case – it causes so much deformity that intercourse becomes impossible, because it's unbearably painful. The only cure then is something called the Nesbit Procedure. Gary's not on a business trip … he's at Philadelphia Hospital, deciding whether or not he should have corrective surgery." His smile was ugly. "He's no too hot on the idea because his dick will end up shorter than it is now – and believe me, he didn't have a lot to begin with."

"So, what? You're letting him use you as some kind of sex-toy just so he can get his rocks off?" I heard my voice rising. The sick fuck. I hoped his dick got gangrene and rotted the fuck off. "Why? Because he's your manager and you've signed some kind of contract with him? I'm sorry to tell you, Sunshine, but there's no legal contract you could _ever_ have agreed to that makes sexual abuse part of the conditions! Call the cops and get the bastard arrested for assault!"

"I'm an adult, remember?" Sirius said softly. "Gary would only be breaking the law if he was acting without my consent, but he isn't." He cocked his head a little. "Okay, so he keeps me cooped up here, but I'm not a prisoner. I do get to go out, even if he's always with me. But do you honestly think I couldn't give him the slip if I really wanted to? I got away from you, didn't I?"

I ran a hand through my hair. I couldn't make any sense of what he was saying. "Then you must actually like what he's doing to you. I can't think of any other reason why you'd put up with it."

"Like it? You think I _like it?_" His voice cracked as it rose.

"Well, you're not going to tell me it's because you're so in love with the guy that you'd do anything to please him, are you? And it's not because you need him to further your career because you could find a hundred professional managers who'd be tripping over their own tongues to sign you up. So what else am I supposed to think?"

He looked at me like I was insane. "Why would I give a fuck what you think about _anything_?"

No reason at all, of course: just like there was no reason for his words to anger me as much as they did. "Let's get this straight, I don't give a shit what you're into," I told him bluntly. "I've seen the way you deliberately provoke him, and if you get off on being punished it's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not averse to a little S&M myself now and then, so if you're a bit of a pain-slut I'm not going to judge you. But if that's the sort of scene you're looking for then you'd better find yourself a more responsible Dom than the Sap … someone who knows how to take care of you properly." Someone who'll stop you feeling guilty enough to try and kill yourself. "That's all I'm saying."

He stared at me for a long moment and then began to clap slowly. "Well done, Mr. Kinney. You've found out my dirty little secret. That's it … I'm Gary's bitch and I fucking love it. Good for you."

Fuck me. Two minutes ago I'd wanted to take the little twat in my arms to comfort him, and now all I wanted to do was strangle him: I'd never met anyone who could swing me from infuriation to compassion and back again with just a couple of words. It had taken thirty years of diligent nurturing to thicken my skin until it was as impenetrable as rhino hide and yet this kid's barbed little arrows could slide right through it like a hot knife through butter.

I spent the rest of the night on the couch, and I didn't get very much sleep.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Well, the knee didn't look any better in the morning. Sirius sat staring at the swollen mass of purple flesh gloomily.

"Fuck."

"Indeed." I looked up at him. "You know I'm going to have to call that doctor when we get back to the penthouse, don't you?"

"Yes. And he'll tell Gary exactly how I did it."

Right. Somehow I didn't think it would be in either of our interests for the Sap to hear about last night's little fiasco. "Then we'll have to come up with a plausible explanation, won't we? Like … you thought if you took a Jacuzzi it would make you feel better, only you were still a little giddy and you slipped on the steps. Same scenario, different location."

He gave me a surprised look. "I thought you weren't going to tell any more lies for me?"

"It's not lying if they make you," I told him. "And, as I said, I'm a pragmatist."

He considered my suggestion. "If I did it at the penthouse, why didn't we call Stanton last night?"

"Because it didn't look this bad last night."

He sighed. "Gary's going to have a cow."

"He'll have the whole fucking herd. Talking of which, I've got to get you home." I stood up and went to fetch the kid's jeans. "He's calling this morning, remember, and we'd better be there or he'll jump on the first flight back."

"He probably will anyway, when I tell him about this." Sirius swung his legs off the bed, gasping in pain; he took his weight on his good leg and stood up awkwardly, leaning his right hand against the wall to steady himself. He took a cautious step. "_Ow_! Fucking bitch bastard knee!"

"Hold on, hold on." I suppressed a grin and hurried over. "I've got your jeans here."

"I need a fucking piss!" he snapped, lurching forward again.

"Then let me give you a hand!" I told him, dropping his jeans on the bed. "Christ." I grabbed his right wrist and ducked under his arm to take his weight. "I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be walking on that."

I manoeuvred him into the bathroom, trying not to think about the fact that my left hand had insinuated itself under his hoodie and was now grasping the soft, warm skin of his waist. I parked him by the john and left him to take care of his business, intending to have a quick wash and brush-up at the sink: unfortunately I paid more attention to the bruises marring the shapely backs of his bare legs reflected in the mirror before me than I did to my own face, which resulted in a horrible case of bed-head. I could only hope he was too wrapped up in his own problems to notice.

Once I'd got him back to the bedroom I sat him on the bed and went to dig out an old pair of my workout sweats. "I don't think we're going to get your jeans back on," I told him, kneeling in front of him. "These will be more comfortable, anyway." He said nothing as I carefully slid them over his injured knee and steadied him while he wriggled his good leg into the garment. I rolled the cuffs up so that he wouldn't trip over them, retrieved his sneakers and put them on his feet, grabbed my jacket and his jeans and then helped him stand. "Same as before – let me take your weight," I told him.

He nodded. I thought his knee was probably hurting badly enough at that point to have distracted him from any protests he might otherwise have made: except for the little hisses of pain that escaped him every now and then he stayed silent as I helped him into the elevator and down to the Jeep.

I figured it was early enough on a Sunday morning for the staff not to have arrived yet and so it proved: the car park was deserted when I pulled the Jeep into its designated slot. I was still thankful to have a private entrance though, because even at that hour I wouldn't have liked to try and smuggle the limping kid through Reception and the staff areas behind it which was the only other way to access the elevator. As it was, not even a pigeon spotted me half-carrying Sirius into the building and a couple of minutes later I was breathing a sigh of relief as I deposited my wayward charge back safely in the penthouse. Nothing short of his setting the place on fire was going to induce me to let him out again.

I figured it would look better if I rang the Sap with the bad news so I made the call from the couch with Sirius sitting beside me, his injured leg wrapped in more ice and propped up on the Sap's precious coffee table. I waited until he'd finished screaming before I tried to explain further.

"Gary, I don't know how bad it is. It doesn't look pretty."

"What does Stanton say?"

"I haven't called him yet."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I've only just seen it," I replied calmly. "Sirius called me on the suite phone just now and when I saw his knee I informed you immediately, as instructed." I winked at Sirius who actually snickered a little.

"Well, call him up _now_ and tell him to get his ass over there!"

"Will he speak to me this early?" I asked. "It's not like it's a life-or-death situation and he doesn't know me from Adam."

I could hear him thinking. "Right. Right. I'll call him myself and explain. Just buzz him up when he gets there. Do you think you can manage to do _that_ without fucking it up?"

"Gary, I think you're …"

"It's _Mister_ Saperstein to you!" he yelled. "And I'm telling you right now, if _this_ is the standard of care _Vangard _supplies then I've been badly misled! I'm going to have my lawyers sue Vance's sorry Limey ass for every cent he's got! You've only had charge of the kid for twenty-four hours and he's already picked up a virus, missed his show and now you're telling me he's hurt his fucking knee …"

The phone was snatched out of my hand. "Gary? Yes. It's me. Stop acting like a jerk." I could hear the Sap still ranting, and Sirius huffed. "I will, if you'll just shut up long enough for me to get a word in. It wasn't Mr. Kinney's fault, okay?" There was more yelling and Sirius started massaging the back of his neck with his free hand. Apparently he was getting a headache too.

He said nothing more until the tirade from the other end died down a little and eventually stopped. "What? No. No, I'm not saying another fucking word to you until you stop yelling and listen." The Sap didn't seem to believe him, so the little twat put the phone down on the couch beside him and proceeded to completely ignore the increasingly furious squawks coming from it. I had to cover my mouth to hide my grin.

Eventually, after it had been silent for a while, he picked it back up. "Well? Are you going to listen? You are? Okay. So this is what happened. Yesterday afternoon I started feeling pretty sick: my throat was sore, I had a headache and I felt like I was running a temperature. I used to suffer from laryngitis a lot and my voice coach always told me never to attempt to sing if my throat was sore because I could permanently damage my vocal chords. I explained all this to Mr. Kinney so he very kindly called downstairs and told them that I was cancelling my show, and I went to bed to try and sleep it off. I woke up about midnight and I was all sweaty so I thought a Jacuzzi might make me feel better, but I guess I was a little whoozier than I thought because I slipped on the steps and landed on my knee. I thought I'd just bruised it so I went back to bed thinking it would be okay in the morning. When I saw how it had swollen up overnight I called Mr. Kinney and he insisted that I should tell you before we did anything else." His eyes cut up to mine for a second and I felt a sudden connection between us, almost as though we were conspiring against a mutual enemy.

"Yes. Yes, I will. No, I won't. Yes. Look, don't worry about me, okay? I'm fine. Yes. Yes." The expression on his face changed: less irritated and more resigned, I thought. "Yes, I'm sure I will. Okay." He held the phone out to me. "He wants to talk to you again."

"Mr Saperstein," I said coolly.

He chuckled a little. "Sorry about that, Brian. I just get a little over-protective sometimes, as I'm sure you've noticed, but now I've spoken to Sirius and he seems okay, so I'll just wait to hear back from Stanton once he's taken a look. If he thinks the kid needs an x ray or hospital treatment he'll make all the arrangements, so just sit tight and wait for him to bring Sirius back."

"You don't want me to go to the hospital with him?"

"No, Stanton will take care of everything."

"Whatever you say." I remembered how Sirius had referred to Stanton as the Sap's pet doctor and I wondered how many other messes the guy had discreetly cleaned up. I'd like to bet this wasn't the first to centre around Sirius.

"Okay. I'll call him now. If there should be any changes of plan, I'll let you know."

"Fine." I put the phone on the coffee table and turned to Sirius. "He's going to call the doctor himself. We just have to wait for the guy to show up."

"Oh yes. Gary's a great organizer."

"Thanks for putting in a good word."

He shrugged a little. "I told you, I really wasn't trying to get you into trouble. I wasn't even trying to get _myself_ into trouble … I just seem to attract it, somehow, and then everyone around me suffers from the fallout. Must be that malign influence at work again."

I studied him. He definitely looked back in the doldrums. "How's the knee?"

"I've had worse. Nothing a couple of joints and a shot of vodka wouldn't take care of."

I smiled. "Sorry, Sunshine, no can do."

"Ah well. I'll have to make do with another of your cigarettes, then. Good thing I like pain."

I clenched my jaw so hard I could feel my teeth creaking.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Stanton turned up within the hour, an older man than I'd expected with thinning grey hair and glasses. He asked for no personal information from Sirius, which supported my assumption that Stanton had treated him before, and he seemed to accept our version of events without comment. But he was obviously uncomfortable in the extreme, giving Sirius only a cursory and mostly silent examination before agreeing that a fracture was certainly possible and that the only way to assess the damage was to have the knee scanned and x-rayed. The kid didn't look overjoyed by the prospect but he didn't protest, either: Stanton said that he'd call Saperstein as soon as he reached the hospital and again once he had the results, but he'd warned me that, since this was a Sunday, it might be some time before anyone got back to me.

Was I relieved? Does Zack O'Toole have a big dick? I'd been through more of an emotional wringer in the last twenty-four hours than I had since I'd outed Mikey, and I figured I deserved a little me time.

So I'd spent an hour giving myself a good workout and now I was lying back in the Jacuzzi, letting the jets of hot water soothe the aches from my muscles as I pulled thoughtfully on a Marlborough. The trouble was that, now my mind wasn't focussed on putting my body through its paces, it had drifted back to its default setting and was once again pointing towards its troublesome little blond lodestone.

God, the boy was pretty. Not only that, he was _hot _– not in my stud predator way, or even in a slutty bottom way, but in an unattainable, unapproachable way that was all the more alluring because I was willing to bet that beneath that cool, unresponsive exterior there lurked a consuming passion just waiting to be tapped by the right hands and oh, how I longed for those lucky, lucky hands to be mine. I seriously doubted that Sirius had ever enjoyed a true sexual encounter in his life because his only frame of reference when it came to gay sex seemed to be whatever sick games the Sap had embroiled him in, and I really couldn't imagine a worse mentor for the boy. On the one hand I couldn't help but be relieved - not to mention gleeful - that the creep wasn't physically capable of actual intercourse with _anyone_, but whatever means he was using to sublimate his desires appeared to be unhealthy in the extreme both for Sirius' physical and his mental well-being. Yet what could I do about it? Sirius had as good as told me that he wasn't being coerced into anything: as an adult he was as free as I was to make his own decisions, no matter how misguided they might be.

No, I had to pull back from this situation because I was getting way too involved and it was beginning to affect my professional judgement. It was easy to understand why I was obsessing over the kid, of course: I was cooped up here with none of my usual distractions available, so it was hardly surprising that my libido was in full spate. Under normal circumstances if I saw a trick I wanted to fuck, I fucked him, and that was the end of the matter: here, I couldn't. For some reason I found Sirius, little blond twink though he be, more attractive than any guy I'd seen in years and if it hadn't been for the fact that he was off limits I'd have had him spread wide open and begging for mercy long ago, so I guessed it was only natural that those tantalising glimpses of him I kept getting - his smooth, pale chest that first night at the _Starlight_; his taut little belly as he'd shimmied at _Woody's_; his bare legs this morning at the Loft – replayed over and over in my head in various shades of lust.

Wanting what you couldn't have was quite a novel experience for me.

I'd been stroking myself all the time I'd been thinking about him: now I ditched my cigarette, filled my palm with liquid soap and set about jerking off in earnest, imagining those sensual pink lips stretched around my dick and the tip of that artful tongue running up and down it. I saw my hands reaching down to steady a blond head, and felt soft wet strands of hair between my fingers: I saw those amazing blue eyes looking up at me in wonder and delight.

I came with a groan, spurting jets of cum across my stomach.

* * *

Somehow I didn't feel comfortable in the Sap's domain so I wandered back to the suite and ordered a chicken Caesar salad from the restaurant before rooting through the DVD's in the entertainment centre looking for something to watch. They were, as the Sap had promised, all mainstream standards that I'd seen a million times before: _Jaws, Die Hard, Star Wars, Rocky, Alien …_ I was trying to make my mind up between Brando in _The Godfather_ and De Nero in _The Deerhunter_ when I spotted a copy of _The Wild One _lurking at the back of the drawer. That would do nicely.

I opened the case, popped out the disc and inserted it in the DVD player. I found the remote and went back to the couch, switched on the TV and while I was waiting for the disc to load I pulled the little information booklet about the film out of its clip in the DVD case and started leafing through it. Tucked away inside were a couple of sheets of folded notepaper, and when I opened them I found I was looking at a letter.

Of course I read it.

It was written on expensive, scented paper in a feminine, flowing script and was dated just a month ago.

_Sweetheart,_

_Just a few lines to let you know how things are going at home, because it seems forever since you called and I know very well that there's no hope of your picking up a pen and writing to me!_

_Molly is doing well at the moment and the doctors are very pleased with her. I know she missed you badly when you left, but I've made a point of showing her your photo every day and telling her all the things you're getting up to at college and I'm sure that she's beginning to adjust to your absence at last. Certainly the tantrums are a lot less now. We had a lovely day together last week - the weather was so bright and warm that I took her for a picnic to the park. We sat by the pond and fed the ducks the way you used to, and do you know? I think you're right. She definitely seemed to respond to them – I'm sure she was laughing at all the noise they were making. I could see it in her eyes, and when we got home she seemed really happy and ate all her dinner like a good girl. I told her you would be proud of her. When summer comes I'll try to take her every day._

_Daddy is well, of course. I wish I could say that he's come round a little, but I'm afraid he's still adamant that he won't let you come to the house. I'm not going to pretend that I understand his stance on this, because I don't, but you're just as stubborn as he is and I'm sure we could work something out if the two of you would only sit down and __discuss__ it like sensible adults. Perhaps if I made arrangements for the Centre to take Molly for an afternoon I could come up to town and we could meet for lunch and talk? We could even squeeze in a little shopping trip – I'm sure you won't say no to that! I'd love to meet your flatmate – perhaps there's even a nice boy in your life by now! Perhaps that's why I hardly ever hear from you!_

_Seriously, Justin, I know how hard you must be working (I went to college too, remember!) and I realise how exciting it must be for you - sharing an apartment with your new friend, living in the city instead of out here in the suburbs - but please, darling, don't forget us. I'm sure if you really tried you could call a little more often. However bad things are between you and your father, __I__ will never stop being your mother, or stop worrying about you._

_I miss you, sweetheart._

_Love, Mom xxxxxx_

I read the letter twice, Brando forgotten. Then I grabbed the ashtray off the coffee table, pulled out my Marlboroughs and lit up. This definitely needed consideration.

_Justin._ That was the kid's name. I liked it a lot more than fucking Sirius. And his mother … I remembered how happy she'd looked as she'd waved us away from her house and I'd wondered how such an obviously classy lady could be so complacent about her son's association with a lowlife like the Sap. Well, now I had the answer - she evidently was completely clueless as to what was really going on in the kid's life. There she was in her nice, cosy suburban world, fondly believing that her little chick was safely spreading his wings at college, simply delighted that he had finally found the time from his busy schedule to pay a fleeting visit. And of course she'd been trying to catch a glimpse of me – she probably suspected I was the boyfriend, too nervous of meeting her husband to come to the door.

Why hadn't the kid told her the truth? Come to that, why hadn't his father? The Sap had said that Sirius' - Justin's - old man had disowned him because he'd quit school to pursue a career in music, and to some extent the letter bore this out. But if his mother still believed he'd gone to college then the old man must have given her some other reason for barring their son from the family home. Because the kid was gay, perhaps? Justin had implied that. His mother seemed to be cool with the idea, but maybe his father had played the homophobic card as an excuse to get rid of him. The only certain thing was that both of them seemed determined to shield her from the knowledge that her son had in fact dropped out of school and was now involved in a highly questionable relationship with a man old enough to be his father and singing in a nightclub twice a week.

Well, I guessed most mothers wouldn't react well to news like that, and perhaps Justin's already had enough to worry about. Molly had to be a close relative, probably a sibling, although neither he nor the Sap had mentioned a sister. Whoever she was, it sounded as though she was severely handicapped and the mother provided her full-time care, so I supposed I could understand why neither her son nor her husband would want to cause her more distress than they needed to.

I was distracted from my musings by the phone ringing: it was the restaurant telling me that my lunch was on its way, so I went to the foyer to take delivery. I tipped the waitress who'd brought it up in the elevator, took my meal back to the suite and picked at it while I read the letter again.

Of course, Justin's mother wasn't the only one being kept in the dark: the kid must have hidden the letter here in the suite because he didn't want Saperstein to find it, in the same way he hadn't wanted the guy to know about our trip to South Fayette. Ergo, it would be safe to assume that the Sap would be more than a little displeased to find that Justin was still in contact with his mother, presumably because he didn't want any outside influences lessening the control he had over the kid. Yet Justin had been willing to risk not only my ratting him out but also an unpleasant encounter with his father, all for the sake of a few minutes spent in his old home. I reasoned he'd probably he'd been spooked by his mom's proposed visit or perhaps it was because of Molly: the letter had implied that Justin had spent a lot of time with her and that she had missed him badly, so they must have been close; maybe he'd just wanted to reassure himself that she was now doing as well as his mother claimed she was.

The one thing that seemed clear to me was that the kid must be carrying a shitload of guilt around with him and maybe that was the answer to the enigma. To Justin's eyes it must seem that he'd disappointed his father, deserted his sister, had been deceiving his mother for months – and whatever the Sap said, he clearly wasn't happy doing it. Perhaps that was why he was allowing the Sap to abuse him … because he felt in some way he deserved it. And if he felt that bad about himself then it made my guess about his attempted suicide all the more likely.

I remembered my own brush with death on my thirtieth birthday, and how I only had Mikey to thank that I was here at all. But what friend did Justin have to watch his back for him?

I pushed what was left of my lunch away. I really didn't feel hungry anymore.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It turned out the kid _had_ broken his kneecap, albeit a small vertical hairline fracture that only necessitated a knee brace and not a full cast. It still meant that the injury was going to take probably six weeks to heal and, since initially at least he wasn't allowed to put any weight on it, he was going to have to be on crutches. Stanton handed me a sheet of aftercare instructions – elevate the leg at least four times a day, apply ice for fifteen minutes every hour for the first day and every three to four hours for the next two days until the swelling went down – plus a pack of pain-killers that wouldn't send the kid's system into meltdown. He also informed me that Saperstein would be cutting his trip short and would be flying home the following day, after which my services would no longer be needed.

It looked like I'd been dismissed again: I didn't know whether to feel insulted or relieved. Mostly, I think I was just worried.

After Stanton had taken himself off I installed Justin on the couch, his knee properly ice-wrapped and his foot resting on a cushion placed on the coffee table, and ordered us both steaks and salad – mine rare, his medium, with blue cheese dressing on his salad. I'd expected him to be sunk in gloom and despondency after hearing about the Sap's imminent return, but to my surprise he seemed quite up-beat and tucked into the meal that I placed on his lap with as much enthusiasm as he had the Diner burgers.

"So what did you do today while I was stuck with Stanton?" he asked.

"Not a lot," I replied casually. "I worked out for a while, then I ended up watching a film."

"Sounds like more fun than I had. I hate hospitals, even private ones."

"How's the knee feeling?" I asked.

"Good." He speared a radish that had been painstakingly carved into a rose and bit into it, and I tried not to stare at the way his lips moved as he chewed. "I mean, not _good_, obviously. But better. A lot better."

"Guess you won't be performing for a while."

"Nope." He chuckled a little. "I won't be doing _anything _for a few weeks, at least. Gary is going to be so pissed."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "You didn't seem so cheerful about the prospect this morning."

He shrugged. "I'm pretty much _hors de combat_ now, aren't I? Plus, Gary's had to postpone his op until I'm up and about again. It's a win-win situation as far as I can see."

"So it's eat, drink and be merry because tomorrow we die?"

"Tomorrow can take care of itself, I'm sure. Today is all that counts."

I'd voiced the same sentiments more times than I could remember, but somehow it sounded different coming from him. I watched him polishing off his steak as if he didn't have a care in the world and shook my head.

"You should be happy, too. This is your last night having to babysit … you can go back to your loft and your friends and forget all about me."

"Of course. Because you are so very unremarkable."

He scrunched his face up, crossing his eyes and poking his tongue out. I couldn't help but laugh.

He was watching me curiously. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I nearly choked on a piece of steak. "What the fuck would give you that idea?"

"You're rich and you're hot. Why wouldn't you?"

Okay. So what was that weird little flutter in my stomach? Of course I was hot. I guess I was just relieved he'd actually noticed at last. "I don't do boyfriends," I told him as nonchalantly as I could. "Didn't the trick I pulled last night give you a clue?"

He shrugged again, this time dismissively. "Just because you have a boyfriend doesn't mean you can't still play the field."

"Then why have a boyfriend in the first place?"

"Convenience?"

I snorted. "I thought you'd be more of the romance and roses kind of guy. Don't you want to find someone who'll love and adore you for the rest of your life? Isn't that what you're always singing about?"

He laughed. "It's what people want to hear, but it's all bullshit. Any ideas I might have had about romantic love disappeared a long time ago … there's only one person you can ever rely on in this world, and that's yourself." He spoke with utter certainty, but instead of applauding his clear-sighted realism I found myself annoyed for some reason.

"You're a little young to be so cynical."

"And you're a little old to be so naïve. I think I've told you that before."

"Me? _Me_?" My irritation level jumped a couple more notches. Who did the patronising little shit think he was? "You've just told me your only plan for sorting out the fucking mess you're in is to simply lie back and go with the flow. How naïve is _that_?"

"I never said that. I just said there wasn't any point in worrying about shit that hasn't happened yet. And are you so in control of your own life?"

"Of course I am."

"Then how come you're here, where you don't want to be, doing what you don't want to do? We're not so different."

"That's just work! Everyone who has to work for a living has to do things they don't want to sometimes!" He was so fucking frustrating. "I'm talking about your _life_, Sunshine!"

He had that stubborn look on his face again. "My life is my own business."

"Not just yours. What about your mom?"

His expression turned to sudden suspicion. "What about her?"

"Well…" I could hardly tell him I knew he was lying to her because I'd snooped through his private correspondence. "From what I saw she obviously cares about you. You said she was happy … no, _ecstatic_ for you. Which makes me think that perhaps she doesn't really know what's going on here."

"She knows all she needs to." He looked up at me, and I caught my breath at the anguish in his eyes. "Look. She loves me, right? She's proud of me. And there are some things she can't find out … things that would hurt her too much. And I can't be responsible for that."

I leaned forward. "Listen to me, you little twat. It doesn't matter what you've done, or think you've done; I'm pretty sure your mother would rather …"

"You know nothing about her!" he yelled suddenly, shoving the tray off his lap so that it clattered onto the floor, smashing the plate and spilling the remains of his dinner across the polished boards. "You know nothing about _anything_!"

"Then why don't you tell me?" I couldn't believe how gentle my voice sounded. "You can trust me, Sunshine."

"_Trust?_" He gave a shaky laugh. "I can't trust anyone. Everybody wants a piece of me. They all need things from me, and what _I _need doesn't matter!"

"Then tell them to fuck off! Christ! You're an adult, as you're so fond of saying! Grow some balls and stand up for yourself!"

"You think it's that easy?" he demanded. "There are people I love … I can't let them down. I can't. If I walk out on this thing with Gary … if I wasn't singing here…"

Money. Fuck me, it had to be about money. Why hadn't I thought of that? I'd assumed the kid's family was wealthy, but what if there was a problem at home, with his father's business or perhaps with the medical cover for his sister? That would account for why he had no money of his own, if he was using it to help support her … sacrificing his dreams, not to mention his ass, to Saperstein in the process. It was a far more comprehensible and believable motive than some fucked-up Dom/Sub relationship between them.

"What if they wouldn't want you to pay that kind of a price?" I asked him.

"That's why they aren't going to know about it." He looked at me helplessly. "You must have people you care about … people who depend on you. Wouldn't you do anything you could to help them?"

"Are you talking about _my_ mother? Honestly, no. But then I only speak to her twice a year."

"Oh?" There was a small spark of interest. "You're not close?"

I barked a laugh. "Hardly. She's a committed Christian and she really believes I'm going to hell for being gay. She prays for me, though."

"Wow. Probably not a good comparison, then." He pondered a little. "What about your father?"

"He died of cancer a while back. When _he_ found out I was gay he told me I should be dying instead of him - after years of taking my hand outs."

"Mine told me never to infect his home again. Not ours; not Mom's; not mine. _His._ He told me as far as he was concerned he no longer had a son." He looked at me bleakly. "Fathers suck, don't they?"

"And not in a positive, life-affirming way."

He snickered a little.

"Well. I'd better clear this mess up, before it stains." I bent down to retrieve the tray and the broken pieces of china.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Don't be," I told him, wiping up the spilled salad and dressing with a couple of napkins. "It's not my floor. Or my dinner."

"I didn't mean that. I mean about everything."

"I don't believe you need to apologise for that, either." I smiled at him to show there were no hard feelings, which there weren't: if I was right about his reasons for being at the _Starlight_ then he was trying to be a man, taking responsibility for his own problems and solving them in the best way he knew how. I could respect that, even if I didn't agree with the solution he'd come up with.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After I'd re-iced his knee and fed him his pain killers he picked up the remote and started surfing channels.

"There's nothing on!" he complained.

I rolled my eyes. "There are a hundred channels to choose from. Of course there's something on."

"Nothing I want to see."

"Well, watch a DVD."

"Okay, but I get to choose." He grabbed his crutches and began to lever himself to his feet.

"Hold on. Where are you going?"

"I was going to make some popcorn," he said.

"Didn't you eat enough already?"

"I lost half of it, remember? Besides, you can't have a movie night without popcorn, everybody knows that."

I sighed. "Okay, okay. I guess I can handle it. You choose a film. Where do you keep the popcorn?"

"Cupboard over the sink, top right," he replied promptly. "It's the kind you can microwave. And there's a stick of butter in the refrigerator."

"Well, you'll have to eat it all yourself. No carbs after seven for me."

"Why? You're skinny enough, aren't you?"

I raised my eyebrows. "_Lean_ is the word, Sunshine, lean and mean. And I aim to stay that way." I walked over to the kitchen and rooted around in the cupboard he'd described until I found some bags of popcorn, got the butter and a knife to cut it with, and then started looking for something to put it in. "You got any bowls?" I called, opening doors.

"Cupboard under the counter," he replied from behind me, making me jump.

I scowled at him. "I thought I told you to stay put?"

"I wanted a coke." He swung himself over to the refrigerator and pulled out a can. "Want one?"

"No thanks, but I'll have an Evian if you've got one." I found a plastic bowl, set it on the counter and dumped half the butter in it. Then I put the bags of popcorn and the bowl of butter in the microwave, set the timer, and turned to where Justin was resting his butt on one of the stools, a coke in his right hand and a bottle of Evian on the counter before him. "So what do you want to watch?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. What did you watch earlier?"

"_The Deerhunter,"_ I told him. I was hardly going to mention _The Wild One_.

He shook the can he was holding, hard. "_Nicky! Go on, Nicky, shoot! Shoot, Nicky! Just do it!_" he screamed in a nasal New York accent, pointing the can at his temple and popping the tab. Coke sprayed out in a fountain, running down his face and darkening his hair. I started at him open-mouthed, torn between laughter and shock at the disturbing image he presented.

"You're fucking insane!" I told him, grabbing a tea towel and heading for him.

He was laughing like a loon. "Christopher Walken was _so _hot!" he informed me as I began to mop him up.

"You'd better go and wash that shit out or it'll set solid." I was probably rubbing his head harder than I needed to.

He shrugged. "So? It's not like I have anything to dress up for."

"Well, don't blame me when you wake up tomorrow looking like fucking Jedward."

He found that idea so amusing that he nearly fell off the stool and I had to grab his arm to steady him, wondering what the hell was in the tablets Stanton had given him and if getting high on them counted as an allergic reaction. The microwave pinged behind me so I pointed in the direction of the couch. "Get your perky little butt back over there before you do yourself any more damage."

"Yes, Mr. Kinney." He was still giggling as he gathered his crutches under his arms, so I stood watching his progress across the room before going to retrieve the popcorn. I emptied the bags into the bowl of melted butter, covered it with the plate my dinner had arrived on and gave the whole thing a damned good shake. Then I tucked the bottle of Evian under my arm, picked up what was left of Justin's coke and followed him back to the couch.

"Here," I said, dropping the bowl of popcorn in his lap and sitting down beside him. "But remember if you puke you're going to have to do it standing up."

"Okay." He'd already grabbed a handful and was munching happily. I found myself wondering how his lips would taste covered with butter.

"So have you decided what we're watching?"

He nodded. "_Donnie Brasco._"

Oh, well. Depp was hot and Pacino was brilliant. Could be worse.

So I helped Justin out of his sneakers, pulled off my own boots and lounged on the couch next to him, my feet propped on the coffee table beside his, sipping my Evian and sneaking the odd piece of popcorn whenever he wasn't paying attention. He made it through half the bowl and a quarter of the film before whatever high he'd been on began to run out and he started to droop. I watched him nodding for a while, obviously struggling to keep his eyes open. "Hey," I said softly. He jerked upright and blinked at me blearily. "Why don't you lie down? You can sleep if you want to."

He nodded, ditched the bowl on the coffee table and wriggled round, lifting his injured leg carefully onto the couch as he did so, and I suddenly had a lapful of blond head which hadn't been at all what I'd intended. I wasn't about to complain though, not with his weight nestling on my groin and his breath warming my thigh. My fingers strayed to his hair and began to gently tease apart the sticky strands while I wondered if he could feel my rapidly hardening dick poking him in the ear.

"I said you should have washed it," I told him.

"You're being awfully nice again," he said sleepily.

I smiled down at him. "And you're still not going to let me fuck you."

"Nuh-huh." He yawned. "Afraid not, Mr. Kinney."

"Stop calling me that."

"What should I call you, then? 'Warden'?"

"No. Not that." Never that. "You could try 'Brian'."

I felt him smile. "Okay. Brian."

Damn, I liked the way it sounded, him saying my name. There was silence for a while as I continued to run my fingers through his hair. "Can I kiss you, then?"

I really couldn't believe I'd just asked that.

"I don't like kissing," he replied, his eyes still on the TV.

"That's because you haven't been kissed by someone who knows what they're doing." Or by someone with decent teeth.

He didn't answer but he turned his face towards me. He looked tousled and drowsy and altogether delectable: I leaned down slowly, giving him plenty of time to turn away, but when he didn't I pressed my lips lightly to his. I kissed him gently but thoroughly, and he tasted of salty butter and sweet coke and I could have eaten him up whole without even thinking about it.

When I finally pulled back his eyes were wide with surprise. "Wow," he said softly. "That was nice." He blinked a couple of times. "Can we do that again?"

Oh, yes, please. "Open your mouth," I whispered against his lips, and when he did I slipped my tongue inside until it met his. I touched it gently, feeling him respond, and as his tongue followed mine back into my mouth I sucked on it softly, drawing it further in. He moaned hot air against as my lips as I kissed him harder, and this time when I broke away his eyes were dark and dazed.

"Still sure you don't want me to fuck you, Sunshine?"

"Oh, I want you to fuck me, alright," he admitted shakily. "But I'm still not going to let you. It's part of the deal."

"With the Sap? Don't make me laugh." My dick was desperate and I was prepared to argue. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him, and neither should you."

His eyes were distant. "Who said anything about trust? It's a business arrangement, that's all … I know what he expects from me and that's what he gets. It's _all_ that he'll get, and he knows that too." His lips curved in a smile. "Besides, you don't ever fuck the clients, remember?"

"I'm willing to make an exception," I told him, stroking his cheek with my thumb. "What do you say? I'll break the rules if you will." I couldn't believe I'd said _that_, either.

"I can't," he whispered. "Not for you, not for anyone." He turned his face away again.

Well. It wasn't meant to be, then. I willed my dick into submission and carefully extricated myself, replacing my thigh with a cushion, and then went to find my jacket: I dug out one of my business cards from my wallet and turned to him. "You got a pen?"

"In the tidy on the desk over there."

I found a biro, scribbled my personal cell number and the address and land line number of the Loft on the back of the card and went back to him. "Here," I said, holding it out. "Keep it somewhere safe." Hide it where the Sap won't find it, with your mom's letter. "If you need me, call me."

He went to take it but I held on to it. "Promise," I warned him.

"Okay. Yes, I promise." I released the card and he tucked it into the pocket of his sweats. "Thank you … Brian."

I took my place again on the couch and lifted his head so that I could ditch the cushion and settle him back on my lap. Eventually he fell asleep, his head heavy on my thighs, so I turned off the TV and bent over him. He looked so peaceful and comfortable that I didn't have the heart to wake him: I slid carefully out from under him and managed to insinuate myself between his body and the back of the couch, so that we were spooned snugly together. I tucked my arm around his waist to keep him from accidentally rolling off and wished to Christ there was something more I could do to help him.

I didn't really expect to ever see him again.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was a couple of weeks after I'd relinquished the kid back into the Sap's incapable hands – sixteen days, actually, but who was counting - and I was on my way to the Diner for lunch when I heard the violin. He was standing on the corner, dressed in a shabby denim jacket and jeans, eyes closed in concentration while passers by threw odd coins into the open violin case at his feet. Young, dark-haired, with a scraggy little wisp of hair beneath his lower lip: the gypsy violinist from Sirius' backing band. The one I thought he had called when he cancelled his show, the one named Ethan.

I'd spent the first few days constantly checking my messages and jumping every time my cell rang, only to find myself unaccountably disappointed when the caller proved not to be Justin. On the fourth day I'd given in and rung the Sap, passing it off as a courtesy call to find out how the kid was doing: according to him 'Sirius' was fine, although his forced inactivity was making him even more of a 'royal pain in the ass' than usual. He'd fobbed off my request to speak to Sirius myself, merely saying that he was busy working on some new material, and ended the call by suggesting I drop in and see the show again sometime, once Sirius was back on his feet. I didn't think there was much point in calling again, even if I could have come up with a plausible reason to.

After that I'd tried hard not to think about the little blond singer I'd left at the _Starlight. _The days weren't so bad: I could always immerse myself in work, and if that resulted in some disgruntled minions and a few resignation threats from Cynthia, it wasn't such a high price to pay for keeping myself occupied. Evenings were pretty much okay too, although I'd been disturbed to discover that too many Beams only seemed to increase the frequency with which any subsequent trick morphed into a blue-eyed blond fantasy. Nights were the worst: I'd lie there, smoking and sleepless at midnight, feeling that cold churning in my gut as I imagined Justin and the Sap in their white bed, willing the phone to ring and yet dreading it at the same time.

I told myself repeatedly that no news was good news and that, as Saperstein had claimed, Justin was fine. He probably hadn't even spared me a thought since I'd left.

But seeing the violinist there on Liberty Avenue seemed too much like fate and I couldn't resist the opportunity to do a little more fishing, so I dropped $100 bill in his case. I hadn't gone more than a few yards when I heard his voice behind me.

"Excuse me! Sir? I think maybe you've made a mistake." I turned and saw him waving the bill at me. "This is a hundred dollars …"

I smiled at him. "No mistake. You're good. And if you'd like to join me, I'll buy you lunch too."

I walked on and after a minute he came scurrying beside me, his violin case clutched in his hand. "Where are we going?"

"Right here." I led him into the Diner and he followed me to a booth.

"Um … is this a pick up?"

He was cute in a ragamuffin kind of way, but I had other things on my mind, so I shook my head.

"Then why am I here?"

I shrugged. "You're busking on street corners. I guess you're pretty poor."

He screwed his face up. "My regular gig's been cancelled for a few weeks, so I need to come up with the rent."

"Don't you have another job?"

"I'm a student. PIFA."

"Ah." I turned to Kiki, who'd arrived to take our orders. "The usual for me. And whatever …" I raised my eyebrows at my companion.

"Ethan," he supplied. "Ethan Gold."

"Whatever Ethan wants."

"The Pink Plate Special's not bad today," Kiki suggested. "Meatloaf and gravy with peas and creamed potatoes."

"Sounds good," Ethan smiled. He waited until Kiki had departed before continuing. "So what are you, some rich eccentric who goes around giving hand outs to the homeless or something?"

"No." I leaned my elbows on the table, laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them. "I've seen you play before."

"Really? Where?"

"At the _Starlight. _You were part of Sirius' backing band."

He frowned and then suddenly he face cleared. "Of course! You were the guy who went backstage with Gary! I thought you looked familiar."

"You know Sirius well?"

His expression grew a little wary. "I play with him. Of course I know him."

"No … I meant, are you a friend of his?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"Just curious."

"Oh. I see." He grabbed his violin case and stood up. "This is one of Gary's little put-up's, isn't it? Trying to find out if there's anything going on between Sirius and me? Well, forget it." He pulled the $100 bill out of his pocket and threw it on the table, dark eyes flashing. "You can have this back. I'm not _that _desperate."

"I heard him talking to you that night he cancelled his show," I told him. "It sounded like the two of you were pretty chummy."

He hesitated. "Gary won't let him have friends," he replied, "and he certainly wouldn't get the chance to find himself a lover, even if he wanted one. So you can tell Gary he doesn't have anything to worry about, okay?"

"I have no intention of telling Saperstein anything," I replied. "And I'm not trying to bribe information out of you, so keep the money. I'm just looking for a few answers."

He chewed his lip for a second and then sat slowly back down. "Answers to what?"

"My name's Brian Kinney and I'm a partner at _Vangard_, which is a company specialising in providing certain requirements of service and care for our clients," I explained. "Gary Saperstein engaged me to look after Sirius while he was away on a business trip. He gave me to understand that Sirius had certain issues with drugs and alcohol, and I was supposed to make sure he didn't have access to anything while Saperstein was gone."

Ethan's jaw dropped. "That's the biggest pile of crap I ever heard!" he exclaimed. "Jus … I mean, Sirius isn't into any of that stuff!"

I smiled. "It's okay. I know what his real name is. You see, I was staying at the penthouse and I found a letter, from Justin's mother. It seems she knows nothing of what her son's up to."

He looked at me wide-eyed. "Shit. I mean, you're right. She doesn't know anything. You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"Hardly, since I have no idea who she is."

He let out a little breath. "I've never met her myself. I've spoken to her a couple of times, though, when she's been trying to reach Justin. She seems a nice lady."

"So he's got you lying for him, too? What are you, some sort of a go-between?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney, but I don't feel comfortable discussing Justin's private life with someone I don't know. Particularly someone who's employed by Gary Saperstein."

Good for you, kid. "Not any longer," I told him. "My contract's terminated, I'm happy to say. You sound as though you don't like him."

He scowled. "He's a slimy bastard, and I have no idea why Justin's involved with him. He's way better than that!"

"You won't get any arguments from me on that score. I thought perhaps you knew his reasons."

"You still haven't told me why you're interested."

I paused while Kiki delivered our meals with a cheery, "Enjoy, boys!" I took a bite of my sandwich and sipped my coffee while Ethan tucked into his meatloaf with an eagerness I didn't think its quality warranted.

"Alright, Ethan, I'll be honest with you. I've seen and heard things that don't make me particularly comfortable with what's going on between Justin and his manager, on both a professional and personal level. Saperstein seems to be running every aspect of Justin's life and I don't understand why he's allowing it. Saperstein says Justin's signed a contract with him but I'd like to bet it would never stand up in court … there isn't any contract that could give Saperstein _that_ kind of power."

Ethan studied me for a moment. "Ah, I see. You've fallen for him, too."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me, I don't _fall_ for anyone. I just don't like to see someone as talented as he is being taken advantage of because he's too young and inexperienced to know better."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Kinney. Although I've got to tell you, Justin isn't naïve … he's one of the smartest people I know. And while I can't pretend to understand what's going on between him and Gary, he must have good reasons for doing it." He ate another mouthful of meatloaf. "Are you really trying to help him?"

"I'd like to."

"Then that makes two of us." He smiled suddenly. "Okay. I'll tell you what I know … which isn't much, I'm afraid. I only met him last fall, when we were both starting our first term at PIFA. Man, he was beautiful! I couldn't take my eyes off him. I eventually got up enough courage to start a conversation with him … he was studying music, of course, which meant we shared a lot of our classes together, and when we found out we were both living in dorms and not enjoying it we figured it would make sense to pool our resources and get a cheap place together."

"Hold on," I interrupted. "He _did_ start college? Saperstein told me he quit school as soon as he was eighteen because his father wanted him to study business."

Ethan shook his head. "No, he graduated alright. He could have gone anywhere, but PIFA had already accepted him. I know there _was_ some trouble at home … his old man is as right wing as they come and yeah, he _did_ expect Justin to follow him into the family business … he owns some company or other. Something in the electronics industry, I think. But the real blow-up came when he discovered Justin was gay … he caught him with some kid from his school, some guy Justin had been secretly dating. They had this like, huge row and the old man told Justin that he wanted nothing more to do with him or his disgusting lifestyle. He said Justin had better find himself somewhere else to live, because he wasn't welcome at home anymore."

"Didn't his mom have any say about that?"

"She did what she could. If it hadn't been for her, his father wouldn't have agreed to cover his college fees. But he wouldn't budge about throwing Justin out … in his world, men work and make the decisions, while the women stay at home, cook and raise children. Besides, she had Molly to consider."

"Yes, she mentioned Molly in the letter. Is she Justin's sister?"

Ethan nodded. "She was born with spina bifida and then she developed hydrocephalus which left her with severe brain damage. She wasn't expected to live, but she's confounded the doctors and made it to eight. She can't do anything for herself, though, so caring for her is a pretty full-time job in itself. Justin adores her. It'll break his heart when she dies."

Christ. It really was as bad as I'd thought. Her medical fees must be astronomical. "Is that why they've kept his mother in the dark about how he's living?"

"Yeah, and I guess I can understand. She's got enough grief to handle as it is. Basically she thinks he's still sharing a flat with me, and I forward his mail and field phone calls for him."

"So why did he quit PIFA? Couldn't he cut it?"

Ethan smiled. "He was coasting, and loving every minute. He can play the guitar as well as he sings, did you know that?"

"No. Saperstein mentioned that he had one, but I haven't heard him play."

"I guess you've never heard any of his own songs, then."

I raised my eyebrows. "He writes, too?"

"Since he was twelve years old. His class was supposed to come up with something original for Mother's Day so he decided to write a song, and he's been writing them ever since. That was his ambition, to be a singer-songwriter, like Dylan or Neil Young. He planned to get his degree and then find an agent to take him on and cut a demo."

"Not an easy thing to do. Was he good enough?"

"I don't think anyone who heard him doubted it. Yeah, he was good enough. And he was really happy, you know? And I'm not gonna lie and say that I wasn't hoping we might soon be sharing more than just the rent. But we never had the chance for anything to come of it … I came home one day to find Justin packing. He said he'd found someone to manage him who was going to make his career, so he was quitting college and was moving in with this guy. I couldn't believe it, because he'd never mentioned anything about it before and he wasn't the sort to make snap decisions or to just leave someone in the lurch, like he was me. But Justin said he'd met this guy – Gary - when he was at school and that Gary had been keen on signing him up at the time, only his old man wouldn't hear of it. Now Gary had turned up again with the same offer, plus guaranteed star billing at his nightclub. To hear Justin talk you'd have thought the guy was another Allen Klein or something. I couldn't believe it when I finally met him, and saw what he was trying to turn Justin into."

I frowned. "Didn't he discuss it with anyone from the college?"

"Nope. I told him I thought he was out of his mind, and that he at least ought to talk to his parents about it. He said his father didn't give a shit about what he did, and that the only one who would worry about him was his mother. That was when he asked me to cover his back with her, because he said she wouldn't understand and it would only cause more trouble between her and his father. I told him he had a fucking nerve, expecting me to lie for him when he was basically walking out and leaving me with a rent I couldn't afford. I was pretty pissed with him, in fact."

Yes, another talent the little twat possessed in spades.

"So he said he'd be needing a backing band and he'd speak to Gary about giving me a couple of nights' work every week, which should more than cover his share of the rent. He asked me to keep his room for him for a while, just in case."

"In case of what?"

Ethan shrugged. "In case it didn't work out, I guess. Like I told you, he's no fool, which is why I never bought the crap about how Saperstein was going to make him a superstar. I figured that his old man had gone back on his word and pulled the plug on his fees, so Justin was making the best out of a bad situation." He finished the last piece of meatloaf, pushed his plate away and sighed. "That was, until I started rehearsals at the _Starlight._ Saperstein had got the rest of the band through some agency, but they were all professional session men so playing with them was easy enough. It was the first time I'd seen Justin since he'd moved out and I couldn't believe the change in him … he was so cold, so distant. He didn't even smile, not once. I tried to get him on his own so that I could find out how he was doing but he acted like I was a total stranger. And Saperstein vetoing every song, watching his every move like some fucking snake or something, and shepherding him straight back to the penthouse as soon as we'd finished." He looked at me, concern in his eyes. "I think maybe the guy's abusing him. You must have seen the way Justin winds him up … well, there have been a few times when he's worked Saperstein into a rage and then had to cancel at short notice because he'd suddenly developed a 'cold' or a 'migraine'. Sometimes he doesn't move as freely as usual, like he's sore or something. And once I saw bruises on his wrists. Like, he'd been _tied,_ you know?"

The kid didn't know the half of it. "Has he ever missed more than just one show?"

"Yeah. Once, a couple of month's after we'd started playing together, he didn't sing for two weeks because he had 'flu'. He _did_ look like he'd been sick, though … he'd lost some weight, and he had these dark circles under his eyes."

If I was right, that would be when he'd OD'd. "Did you ask him about it?"

"Sure I did. I asked him what the fuck was going on, and he told me to mind my own business. After that he wouldn't talk to me at all, except to ask whether his mom had called. But perhaps I'm wrong about Gary beating on him, because the Justin I know would never stand for shit like that. He'd cut off Saperstein's dick while he was asleep!"

Now, there was an idea. I sat and mused for a while. Everything Ethan had said supported my belief that something had happened, something sudden and catastrophic, which had caused Justin to drop out of college and throw his lot in with the Sap. And if it _was _to do with money …. well, there had to be a better answer than the one he'd arrived at. "Do you know what's happened … why he's cancelled his shows?"

"Saperstein told us he'd had an accident and cracked his kneecap, but I haven't spoken to Justin. I only hope the bastard hasn't put him in hospital."

"No. I was there when it happened, and it _was_ an accident. As far as I know, Justin's fine."

He looked relieved. "Thank Christ. I've been worried sick."

"Has he any way of contacting you?"

Ethan nodded. "He knows my cell number. That's how he reached me before. I think it's more a question of if he can find the opportunity."

"I'm sure he'd find a way if he had to," I told him, feeling happier now that I knew the kid had a back-up in case of an emergency.

"So, what?" he asked, looking at me incredulously. "We're just gonna sit and wait to see if he yells for help? I don't call that much of a plan!"

"I think we need to do a little lateral thinking on this one. Do you know the name of his father's business?"

He shook his head. "The family name is Taylor, that's all I know."

"You said it was in the electronics industry?"

"I think that's what Justin told me."

Hmm. _Taylor Electronics? _ It was a pretty good bet. I pulled out my cell, added his name to my contacts and slid it over to him. "Key in your number." While he was doing that I took out another of my business cards and scribbled the same info on the back that I'd given Justin. "If he contacts you and you're worried, call me. In the meantime I'll see if I can find out more about what's going on."

"Okay." He picked up the card and studied it before tucking it carefully into his wallet. "Thanks, Mr. Kinney. I feel a lot better knowing there's someone else who cares about him."

Cares about him? Yeah, I fucking cared, God help me.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"So," Cynthia said, scanning the contents of the file in front of her. "_Taylor Electronics._ It's an old family firm, established in 1954 to make components for television and radio sets. They branched into producing circuit boards for computers in the 1970's, and expanded into the business as it exists today under the present owner's father, George Taylor. He was smart enough to foresee the microchip revolution and it paid dividends – they were consistently in the top fifty Pittsburgh companies throughout the 80's and early 90's."

"But not any longer?"

"They haven't even made the top two hundred for the past four years."

"Any reason why?"

She shrugged. "It seems the present owner, Craig Taylor, is extremely conservative and resistant to new ideas and innovations. He'd rather rely on loyalty from existing customers than risk branching into different technologies in order to attract new ones. He took over in 1992, after his father died from a heart attack, and the decline started from that point. It was pretty gradual to begin with, but it's speeded up a lot recently. The problem is that it's a privately owned business, so there aren't any shareholders to put pressure on him to change his ideas. I'd say they're in trouble."

"Me too." I really wasn't warming to Craig Taylor. Everything I'd heard pointed to his being a narrow-minded bigot with a God complex and I wasn't at all surprised that he seemed to have neither the wit nor the courage to try to turn his business around. I'd met a few of that sort when I'd been working at _Ryder's_. "Did you get much on his private life?"

"Not a great deal. He's forty-two, a devout Baptist and Republican, and a keen golfer. He attended St. James Academy here in Pittsburgh before being accepted at Dartmouth, where he majored in business studies … he married Jennifer …. in 1982 and their first child, Justin, was born the following year. Then there was a gap of ten years before their other child, Molly, arrived: unfortunately she had a birth defect and then suffered complications so she's severely handicapped. She still lives at home, though she's very prone to infections and she's had to be hospitalised several times. I found an article Mrs. Taylor wrote for the _Tribune_ two years ago about the difficulties of maintaining a normal family life whilst being a full-time carer. In it she paid special tribute to her son, Justin – her 'rock', she called him – for all the support and devotion he'd given Molly since her birth."

"Didn't she pay tribute to her husband too?"

"Oh, yes. 'Craig is a wonderful man. Craig is a wonderful father. Craig works so hard for us all.' Yadda, yadda, yadda."

"You think that the lady doth protest too much?"

She tossed her head. "Definitely."

"Have you got a photo of Mr. Taylor?"

"Somewhere." She leafed through the papers and pulled one out. "This is from the same article … it was taken at Justin's graduation from St. James'."

I nearly snatched it from her, I was so eager to see it. It was a typical formal graduation pose, and my eyes zeroed in on Justin in the centre, complete with gown, mitre-board and diploma, grinning cheerfully at the camera and looking younger than ever with his Ivy League haircut. Flanking him stood the proud parents, both blue-eyed blonds too: Jennifer with the same golden sheen to her hair as her son, and the father - Craig - a little sandier. He was taller than Justin and heavier set, both in features and in build, and his hair was already beginning to thin at the temples. Her smile was happy and proud: his was … strained. Of course, he had to have known by then that his only son wasn't going to follow in the family footsteps, which no doubt accounted for his constipated expression. Still, it was the same sort of portrait you'd see proudly displayed in millions of homes across the country, except for one jarring detail: the little girl sitting in a wheelchair at the front of the group, wrapped in a shawl that couldn't completely disguise the painful thinness of her body. She was the only one not looking at the camera because she was craning her head round to look up at her brother, so I couldn't tell whether she resembled him or not. All I could really see of her was her hair, which was long and beautiful and seemed to have a touch of her father's red in it.

"What's this about, Boss?" Cynthia asked, interrupting my musings. "Why are you so interested in _Taylor Electronics_?"

"I'm not. I'm interested in the son … Justin."

Her mouth fell open. "You're … pardon me, _interested_ in him? In this boy? You don't mean … _interested_ interested, surely?"

"Don't wet your panties, Cyn. That Sirius kid at the _Starlight, _the one I was babysitting … well, that's him."

"Really?" Her eyes widened in surprise and then lit with enthusiasm. "He's a little cutie! Just look at that smile! And what a darling, helping his mother with his sister like that when I bet most boys his age…"

Oh God, another one. What was it with this kid and women? She hadn't even met the brat. "I'm afraid he may have taken on a whole different level of responsibility," I told her, cutting short her eulogy. "It may be more than he can handle."

"What do you mean?" Cynthia asked, looking worried.

"He's dropped out of college to sing at the _Starlight_, but his mother doesn't know that. He's going to great lengths to make sure she doesn't find out, either. I think he's given up his education because his father's business is in trouble and he's trying to help out."

"Oh my God, that's awful! But … how brave of him, how honourable. Surely his mother would understand, and be proud that he'd been prepared to make a sacrifice like that for his family."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Cyn. He's … amazingly talented, for one thing, and Saperstein – that's the owner of the _Starlight_ and Justin's manager – hasn't the first idea how to handle him. Saperstein's trying to turn him into the new Sinatra or something, and that isn't what the kid's about. Not only that … it's an unhealthy relationship."

Her face was suddenly very serious. "Unhealthy? Um … you mean in a _personal_ way?"

"Personally. Physically. Professionally. Any fucking way you care to mention. Which is why he's so desperate for his mother not to find out what he's doing."

"What is this guy? Some sort of Svengali?"

I barked a laugh. "Hardly. He's got a lot of money, but he's basically a pig's ear trying to turn itself into a silk purse. He sees 'Sirius' as his stepping stone into the glamorous world of showbiz, where he seems to think he belongs."

"I see." She tapped her chin with her right forefinger, the way she always did when she was thinking. "So what are you planning to do about it?"

I raised my eyebrows at her. "I'm not _planning_ to do anything."

"Oh, come on, Boss." Now she was smirking. "You wouldn't have asked me to find out all I could about _Taylor Electronics_ if you hadn't got something in mind."

"I'm just trying to get a handle on the situation. If his father's in really deep shit, then whatever contribution Justin's making can't be enough to bail them out … so why is he even trying?"

"Maybe because that's all he _can_ do?"

Yeah, maybe. So many maybe's. "Would you do me another favour?"

"Do I get another lieu day?"

I grinned. "_Two_ lieu days. Find out anything you can about Gary Saperstein … not just the official shit, but the gossip and the rumours. What they say in all those trashy tabloids you read."

"You got it, Boss." She put everything back inside her folder and stood up. "Although I've gotta tell you … I'd have done it for that little cutie for nothing."

Christ, I hated blondes. They were the banes of my fucking life.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The following Saturday found me sitting in the Jeep in the car park at Hickory Heights watching the members decant from their Nissans and BMWs, dressed in their hideous outfits and lugging their golf bags into the clubhouse. I'd been waiting there since the place opened two hours ago, but my target hadn't shown up yet.

I honestly didn't know what I was going to do if he did. I could hardly go up to the guy and say, _Hi. I'd like to have a word with you about how you're okay with the fact that your son is selling himself out to a guy who's abusing him so he can try and bail your ass out of jail, you sorry sack of shit, _nowcould I?

Actually, I really thought I could.

I sat there for another hour before I figured he wasn't going to show, so I cruised back through Newbury Market trying to recall some landmark that might jog my memory as to the exact location of the Taylor residence, but everything was depressingly unremarkable. Christ, if I owned one of these places I'd spend half my time driving round trying to remember which one I lived in.

Okay, then. Plan B: if Mohammed won't go to the mountain …

Plan B involved calling _Taylor Electronics_ on Monday morning and getting myself an appointment with the owner. This proved to be easier said than done: his secretary informed me that Mr. Taylor never made appointments over the phone and if I wished to see him in a business capacity then I should submit my request in writing, together with a brief summary as to what I wanted to see him about. If Mr. Taylor then wanted to set up a meeting he would inform me.

So I told her the truth: it wasn't about business, it was personal. It concerned his son, Justin.

She said she'd get back to me.

She did, within the hour, and said that Mr. Taylor would be happy to see me at twelve o'clock the following day, if that was convenient.

I told her it was.

* * *

I was given a pass at reception and a security guard showed me up to Taylor's office where I was met by his secretary, a rather over-made up and over-endowed young brunette who introduced herself as Crystal. I would have said her blouse was cut a little too low and her skirt a little too short for a day at the office: I would likewise have considered the amount of jewellery she was wearing to be a tad excessive. And since the clothes, despite their brevity, appeared well-made and expensive and the bling looked genuine, I wondered what the pay structure here must be like if a mere secretary could afford to turn herself out like that.

"Mr. Taylor is just taking a call," she informed me; and was she batting her eyelids at me? Yes, I think she was. "If you'll take a seat for a moment, he'll be right with you. Would you like a coffee while you're waiting?"

"No, thanks."

"Well, if you need anything else just let me know."

Nothing you could offer, sweetheart. I sat on a leather bench against the wall while she went back behind her desk and started clicking away at her keyboard, throwing an occasional flirty smile in my direction. Eventually she noticed that her boss had terminated his call, so she buzzed through to him. "Mr. Kinney is here," she announced brightly, and then stood up. "Come this way, sir."

I followed her as she sashayed her way across the room, knocked on a door and opened it. Taylor was sitting behind a huge antique oak desk and he rose as we entered, holding out his right hand: his palm was cool and dry, the same as his handshake. "Mr. Kinney … won't you please take a seat." I did so while he turned his attention to his secretary. "Thank you, Chrissie, that'll be all." He smiled at her and she returned it … a full eye contact smile, nothing like the casual formal acknowledgement between a boss and his employee. His eyes lingered on her ass a shade too long before taking his seat again and I wondered exactly how long he'd been getting a piece of _that_ tail, and whether the hole-in-one Craig Taylor was scoring on Saturdays had anything to do with golf.

"Pretty girl," I commented dryly.

"She certainly is." He tore his gaze away from the door she'd disappeared though, and his expression became notably more impassive as he studied me. I was pleased to see that his eyes were nothing like his son's: these were more grey than blue, harder and colder.

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me what this is about," he said.

"I told your secretary. It concerns your son."

"Justin," he replied distantly.

"Yes, Justin … your son."

"No." He smiled at me thinly. "I don't have a son, Mr. Kinney."

I blinked at him.

"I have a biological son, certainly. However, since I no longer acknowledge any emotional ties or responsibilities for him, I fail to see how anything you might have to say could possibly hold any interest for me."

_Since I no longer acknowledge any emotional ties or responsibilities? _What a fucking prick. I glared at him. "I'm sorry, but I'm finding it a little hard to accept that any parent could just dismiss their child like that."

"Justin made that decision, not me," Taylor said, shrugging dismissively. "He chose to follow a career and a lifestyle which were unacceptable to me: I made it clear to him that, unless he was prepared to renounce the disgusting and degrading practises he seems to find so pleasurable, I could no longer consider him my son. He was the one who walked away, Mr. Kinney."

"Being gay is not a lifestyle choice, Mr. Taylor, it's the way you're born," I told him angrily. "Like being left-handed."

He raised his eyebrows. "And it's perfectly possible for a left-handed person to train themselves to use their right hand, with the proper application and discipline. Therefore I would expect the same of homosexuality … that as long as the sufferer recognizes that his tastes are in actual fact perversions, then with appropriate therapy and counselling he should be able to redirect his passions towards their natural targets."

I wondered what kind of therapy he considered appropriate, and whether it included enlightened procedures like electric shock treatment. "Don't forget prayer," I said sarcastically.

"Of course," he replied, as if that were obvious. "Prayer is the greatest support of all."

He should meet my mother. The two of them had so much in common. "About Justin…" I continued doggedly.

"Is he sick? Or dead?"

I stared at him. "No."

His lip curled. "Are you ... _involved _with him?"

"No," I replied through gritted teeth. "Just a friend."

"My condolences." He broke eye contact, clearly meaning to end the interview. "In that case, you have nothing to say to me. I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney, but I'm a very busy man and..."

"I don't understand how you can be so fucking callous," I snapped, my anger getting the better of me. "Justin – who _is_ your son, whether you want to admit it or not – is sacrificing a hell of a lot to try and help you! I should have thought you'd at least be a little grateful!"

His head whipped up, and for the first time I could see that I'd startled him.

"Justin hasn't sacrificed anything. He's given up a useless degree from a useless fag college so that he can sing in a nightclub, which is probably what he'd have ended up doing anyway."

"Why don't you tell him he's wasting his time?" I demanded. _"Taylor Electronics _is going down the pan, and whatever Gary Saperstein is paying him isn't going to be enough to stop it! So why don't you cut the kid a break and let him get on with his life, or haven't you punished him enough already?"

He stared at me blankly for a moment and then started to laugh. "Oh, I see!" He sounded almost relieved. "You think Justin has been contributing financially somehow. Well, let me put your mind at rest, Mr. Kinney, even though I don't believe the matter is any of your concern: I don't know what Justin has been telling you, but _Taylor Electronics _is far from going down the pan, as you put it. It's true that we've had a few lean years, along with many other businesses, but I am quite confident that the corner has now been turned. But even if it hadn't, do you honestly think I would accept money from that source? I would feel dirty, knowing how it had been earned."

"But…" This wasn't playing out at all how I'd imagined. I'd been so certain of Justin's reasons for being in the position he was, yet Taylor seemed honestly amused at the idea that he'd accept help from the kid. "Saperstein must be paying him for his appearances! How come he has no money?"

"Why would he need it? He's a kept man, isn't he? I'm sure Mr. Saperstein takes very good care of him." He didn't bother to conceal the disgust in his voice.

I took a deep breath and tried to gather my thoughts. Taylor knew that Justin had dropped out of college and was obviously aware of the details of his arrangement with Saperstein; the estrangement between father and son seemed irreconcilable. Yet I still couldn't shake the memory of that almost guilty look of surprise when I'd mentioned how Justin was sacrificing himself to help out: I needed to know more, and in order to do that I had to get on his good side. Improvise, Kinney. You're good at that.

"The little shit!" I exclaimed, running a hand through my hair. "Christ! He's going to pay back every fucking cent! The little faggot lied to me!"

He perked up immediately. "He's very good at that, believe me. May I ask…?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I've been helping him out financially," I told him, my tone disgusted. "He gave me this sob story about how he had to quit college because you couldn't afford to pay for him anymore, and how he was always broke because he had to contribute almost everything he earned to help out his family! And like a sucker I believed him! I actually felt sorry for him! It wasn't too bad at first; just the odd ten bucks here and there … then he started asking all the time, and for more. It got so bad I figured I'd come and see you to find out what was going on. Well, now I know. I'm gonna bust his ass!"

He shook his head regretfully, but his expression was almost gleeful. "I'm sorry you had to find out about him the hard way."

"It's a lesson well learned, believe me." I looked him straight in the eye. "And I apologise for sounding off the way I did."

"Apology accepted," he said with a smile. He made a little helpless gesture with his hands. "I'd like to say that I'd be prepared to honour his debts, but under the circumstances …"

"No, of course not," I interrupted hurriedly. "I wouldn't expect that. I take it he lied about being forced out of college, too?"

"Of course. The truth is that Justin left of his own free will. I had already paid the fees for his first year, even though I was disappointed - to say the least – with his choices. The intention was always that he would study for a business degree at Dartmouth and then come here to work with me, but when he started getting the letters of acceptance back he informed me that he'd also applied to the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts and that he'd been accepted. He was adamant that was where he was going. He was determined to turn his back on everything … on all the hard work he'd put in, all the opportunities that would have opened up for him. Just for some ridiculous notion that he was going to be a singer!" He thumped the desk with his clenched fist, his face flushing with anger.

"It was generous of you to agree to pay for him then, under the circumstances," I said, soothing him with a little flattery.

He nodded agreement. "I was persuaded against my better judgement that he should at least be allowed to complete his education, however undesirable. That was before I discovered he was … gay." He almost shuddered. "That was the last straw as far as I was concerned, and that was when I gave him an ultimatum: if he persisted in the path he had taken then I was finished with him. I would pay for his education and accommodation but nothing more, and that was on the proviso that he never set foot in my house again. He replied that he never would."

Good for you, Sunshine. "Why did he leave college if his fees were paid?"

His gaze flickered. "He told me he was going to pursue his career at Mr. Saperstein's nightclub and I didn't ask for further details. It was entirely his decision. I told him that I would therefore consider my obligations terminated … fortunately, the college were prepared to refund half of the year's fees, so the money I'd already paid out for him wasn't completely wasted."

Hm. Definitely hiding something there, Mr. Taylor. "How did they meet?" I asked casually. "While Justin was at college?"

"No, long before. Gary Saperstein was judging a charity talent contest that Justin had entered. He was fifteen at the time, I think, and to my surprise he won - not that there was much competition, of course. Saperstein introduced himself and started talking about how much talent the boy had and asking if he wanted to make a career in the music industry because if so, he would be interested in managing him. Of course, the idea was ludicrous, and I treated it as such. Besides, I had Saperstein down for a faggot the moment I saw him. I told him we weren't interested and thought no more about it. But I think that was when he planted the idea in Justin's mind … Gary Saperstein started to corrupt him that day, and Justin allowed it to happen."

Okay: so far Taylor had confirmed both what the Sap had told me about how he'd originally met Justin and Ethan's story about how he'd left PIFA. But I was still sure he was hiding something about the kid's reasons for leaving and I still didn't know why the Sap had told me that he'd quit school and never even gone to college. "Well," I said, trying to encourage a little sympathy for the lad, "I think Justin may be regretting his decision. He doesn't seem very happy with Saperstein. I don't think it's a healthy relationship."

"Healthy?" Taylor spluttered. "Of course it's not healthy! It's perverted, because they're perverted! If Justin is unhappy, then it's no more than he deserves! Perhaps it'll bring him to his senses!"

I knew one thing: if I'd ever had a son I hoped to God I'd have proved a more compassionate parent than this vindictive bastard. I doubted I'd learn anymore than I had already had and I figured it would probably be a good idea to get out of there before I ended up slugging the prick. I stood up. "Mr. Taylor … thank you for your time."

"Glad I could set you straight on a few things," he replied, looking a little surprised at my haste. He buzzed the intercom. "Chrissie? Tell Security Mr. Kinney is leaving."

I shook his hand as perfunctorily as I could and escaped from his office. Crystal was sitting at her desk and she smiled as I approached.

"Thank you, Crystal."

She glowed. "Anytime, Mr. Kinney."

I paused, made a point of looking down the cleavage she was so generously displaying and leaned a little closer. "Would you care to let me have your number? Just in case I do need anything after all."

She gave me her sultriest smile. "I'll give you my address, too," she breathed, which was way more than I'd hoped for, before scribbling the details rapidly on a post-it pad on her desk. "Here," she whispered, tearing off the top sheet and folding it before reaching forward and tucking it into my pants pocket, her fingers delving uncomfortably deep. "Don't leave it too long."

"I won't," I promised, trying not to recoil and hoping that the security guard wasn't far away. I could imagine Craig Taylor's reaction if he walked out of his office and saw his bit-on-the-side canoodling with me … although it would be fun enough to be almost worth it and no more than the hypocritical bastard deserved. But the guard arrived before Crystal had the opportunity to unleash any more of her feminine allure, so all she got out of me was a glance full of promise as I walked out the door.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

_A.N._

_Okay, so this is a short chapter, so don't grouse at me! It's just setting up a few last details before the real action gets going in the next chapter ... thanks for your patience and all the great reviews!_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY

Another Saturday morning and I was once again losing the feeling in my ass as I sat in the Jeep keeping surveillance, only this time I wasn't at the golf club. This time I was parked across the street from the new condominium building of 301 Fifth Avenue, but the face I was scanning the passers-by for was exactly the same.

I was beginning to feel like one of the cast of CSI and it was becoming ridiculous.

I checked my watch for the hundredth time: 9.15. I'd give it another half an hour and then I'd head for home - after all, I didn't have any real evidence except for a gut feeling that something was going on between Craig Taylor and his secretary, and I could easily have read the situation wrong. It wasn't like I was an expert on hetero courtship displays and it was perfectly possible that Taylor was just one of those guys who couldn't help drooling over exposed female flesh and that she just liked basking in the attention, because the way she'd come on to me wasn't indicative of her being in a relationship at all. Yet I found it hard to believe that somebody wasn't picking up the tab for her: the electoral roll had confirmed Miss Crystal McConnell as being the sole owner of the $500,000-plus penthouse property she'd given as her address and I couldn't see how a girl who was capable of raising that sort of capital on her own would be working as a humble secretary. She had to be making a damn big hole in _someone's_ budget.

Christ, this was tedious. At least at Hickory Hill I'd been able to amuse myself with the sartorial whimsies of the golfing set: here, I had nothing to look at but the dreary parade of early shoppers and office workers. Sighing, I tucked my Raybans into my breast pocket, reached for the file Cynthia had prepared for me on Saperstein and began to browse through it again in the hope of finding something I'd missed the first time.

As Vic had said, there wasn't a great deal of information prior to his moving to Pittsburgh, and most of what was known came from Saperstein himself during an interview he'd given to _Pittsburgh Magazine _in 1996 when the _Starlight_ had opened. In the article he'd held himself up as a shining example of how far hard work and dedication could take you - a rags-to-riches saga which had begun in 1972 with a young gay man arriving in San Francisco to seek his fortune and ended nearly twenty-five years later in Pittsburgh where he was opening his very own nightclub. He'd started off tending bars or waiting tables and had worked his way up from barkeep to supervisor to manager, always with an eye out for vacancies at bigger and better establishments. Eventually he'd applied for the position of assistant manager at a local nightclub and that was his defining moment; he'd found his calling. He ran a series of very successful clubs before taking his next big step upwards by relocating to New York in 1986 as the manager of _Adonis_, a popular gay club in Chelsea, before finally being head-hunted by the owners of the _Rainbow_, a big casino cum nightclub in Lower Manhattan. That was when his face started turning up in gossip magazines like _People _and _Star_ rubbing shoulders with the celebs that patronized the club: he didn't disguise the fact that he was gay and Cynthia had tracked down a few bitchy snippets about the kind of parties he attended and the pretty boys he was seen around with. At last he seemed to be making inroads into the world he so longed to be part of: he'd certainly come a long way from pulling beers in 'Frisco. And by 1995, despite his penchant for life in the fast lane, he'd managed to amass enough savings to leave the bright lights of the Big Apple and buy an abandoned warehouse in Pittsburgh.

When he was asked by the reporter from the_ Magazine_ why he'd settled for the relative obscurity of the good old Pitts to follow his dream, Saperstein had replied that property in New York was way too expensive and that there was simply too much competition to make establishing a new nightclub there viable. He'd spotted

the old warehouse on the Monongahela whilst visiting family and had immediately seen the potential in the building, so he'd made an offer and risked ploughing everything he had into renovating it. His ambition was to make the _Starlight _into a new _Viper Room_ or _Bowery_, staging acts that would draw celebrity patrons from far and wide.

Well, there had to be more to the story than _that, _because I didn't see how any club manager, however successful, could have saved enough money to finance a project like the _Starlight_. There had to be something else going on behind the scenes, something probably illegal … maybe it w_as _drugs, given his 'Frisco connections, or perhaps he'd been creaming off some of the profits from the casino in New York. Whatever the case he still seemed to me to be punching far above his weight: I couldn't see it mattered _how _much money the Sap threw at the _Starlight _– he had neither the vision nor the class to pull off an ambition like that because, other than _Sirius_, none of the acts I'd seen there would have attracted the kind of audiences he was interested in. But with the kid … well, maybe he'd had the luck to stumble on a talent so rare that it might just make him famous.

The only other real point of interest I could see in the story was the statement that the Sap had been visiting family in Pittsburgh when he'd noticed the warehouse: he hadn't said where he'd been coming from when he'd arrived in San Francisco, but there was definitely a possibility that Pittsburgh might actually be his hometown. Unfortunately I couldn't see how that knowledge might help the situation.

I looked at my watch again. Fuck it. I decided to call it a day. I tossed the file onto the passenger seat, put on my sunglasses and checked the rear view mirror prior to pulling out … and there he was, hurrying down the pavement towards me, clutching a huge bouquet of something colourful and exotic. I slouched down in my seat but he wasn't paying any attention to me: he passed the Jeep and crossed the street towards the foyer of 301 and stabbed at a button on the security pad, standing impatiently with his hand on the door as he waited for it to unlock. On the spur of the moment I grabbed my Zeikos from the glove compartment and took the opportunity of snapping a couple of shots before he pulled the door open and disappeared inside, not because I had any clear idea of ever being able to use the pictures but more because I wanted evidence that he'd actually been there, just so that I had my own personal proof of what a bastard Taylor really was. Then again, maybe I _had _been watching too much CSI.

Well, well. So much for the golf sessions. My opinion of Craig Taylor plummeted to new depths of loathing. It wasn't the fact that he was cheating on his wife that offended me so much: I didn't know their marital arrangements and I certainly wasn't in a position to take the moral high ground over infidelity. It was even perfectly possible that Jennifer Taylor was aware of the affair and was turning a blind eye to it for the sake of Molly: she wouldn't be the first or the last to sacrifice her own happiness for what she saw as her children's benefit. What I found so repugnant was that the man was hypocritical enough to have disowned his son for what Taylor regarded as the unpardonable depravity of being gay and yet felt no qualms about being here, spending his Saturdays screwing his secretary while his wife was at home, devoting _her_ life to caring for their daughter. I wanted nothing more than to storm up there to interrupt their little fuck-fest and tell the bastard exactly what I thought of him: I saw myself towering over his undoubtedly ugly naked body, and oh, how I'd enjoy the expression on his sanctimonious, God-fearing face while he and Crystal cowered under the duvet. But even in the unlikely event that I could gain entrance to the building, I couldn't see how confronting Taylor again would improve Justin's situation; and making me feel better was hardly any justification for involving myself in the marital shenanigans of the Taylor family. It wasn't like Justin had asked for my help, or even confided in me: on the contrary, he'd made it perfectly clear he didn't want anybody interfering with his private life, especially where his family was concerned. I'd already over-stepped the line by contacting his father in the first place, and I could just imagine how the kid would react if he found out about it. Whatever tenuous trust I'd established with him would be kicked straight into touch, probably along with my balls. When it came down to it, the only person who could give me the answers I wanted was the one who least wanted to discuss them … the one I couldn't contact anyway, even if he did.

I put my camera back in the glove compartment and started up the Jeep. I figured I'd done all I could. Now it was up to Justin to make a move.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When the call came, I really wasn't expecting it. I was just walking out of the door on my way to _Babylon_ when the Loft phone started ringing: I waited for the answer machine to pick up just in case it was anything important, but as soon as I heard the hesitant voice coming through the speaker I raced back into the Loft, vaulting the sofa in my haste to get to the phone. "Hey!" I panted breathlessly, snatching it up. "I'm here."

"Sorry… I know it's late. Have I disturbed you?"

"No, no. I wasn't expecting to hear from you, so I let the machine pick up, that's all." I couldn't believe how happy it was making me, hearing the sound of his voice again. My face seemed to be grinning or something. I was glad he couldn't see it.

"Oh." He sounded relieved.

"How's the knee doing?" I asked, eager to make sure that he really was alright.

"Okay. I've still got to wear the brace for a while, but I can walk on it now. I managed a short set last week, and I did the full show tonight."

I scowled. That fucking self-serving slave driver. "Don't let Saperstein push you too hard if you're not ready, Sunshine. Is Stanton happy with you being on your feet so soon?"

"Yeah, it's fine as long as I don't overdo it. I still have the physio coming over three times a week … I don't enjoy working out at the best of times, so _that's_ pretty grim."

"Isn't he hot?" I smirked.

"_She_ is definitely not."

I laughed. "Did Saperstein tell you I'd called?"

"You did?" His surprise sounded genuine. "When?"

"Weeks ago. I asked if I could speak to you but he said you were busy." Oh God, how pathetic was that? I sounded like some love-sick teenager.

"I bet he did," Justin said sourly. "No, he didn't tell me." There was a pause. "That was nice of you. Again."

"I wasn't trying to be nice. I just wanted to be sure he hadn't … well, taken your injury too badly." I was sure he knew what I meant.

"No, it was fine," he replied a little too casually. "Gary was very … understanding."

I was pretty sure he knew that Iknew what _he_ meant, too. "So where are you calling from? Have you finally got a cell of your own?"

"No. Umm … I'm calling from Ethan's."

I truly hadn't expected that. "Ethan's?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yeah … he plays violin in the band."

"I remember." Ethan obviously had kept his mouth shut about our meeting. Smart kid. "What the fuck are you doing _there_?"

He laughed, a little hysterically. "I escaped!"

"_What_?"

Justin was still laughing. "Gary's had surgery. He was planning to fly straight back, but his dick's so swollen he can't walk, so they're keeping in him for a couple of days. He wouldn't trust you with me again, so he detailed Brad - the head of security - to play nursemaid until he gets back. Since Brad thinks that being gay is something you can catch he probably wasn't the best choice for the job: he would no more set foot in the dressing room while I was changing than he'd stick his dick down the waste disposal. So after the show I wadded up some tissues and set fire to them with my lighter and waved them under the smoke detectors to set off the fire alarms. Brad went galloping off to evacuate the club and Ethan smuggled me out the back way with the band during all the confusion."

My smile got wider as I listened with a growing sense of relief. Well, God bless you, Ethan Gold. "Sounds like Brad's ass is going to be toast when the Sap gets hold of him."

"Yeah, well, serve the homophobic prick right. If there _had_ been a real fire he'd have left me to burn."

"So what are you going to do? Stay with Ethan?" Happy as I was to hear that the kid seemed finally to have come to his senses, I didn't feel exactly comfortable with the idea of his moving back with his former flat-mate and would-be lover, either. Not that I was jealous, of course.

"No." His voice changed, became hesitant again. "I … um .. it's not permanent, or anything. I'm going back to the _Starlight_ tomorrow."

My smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Then what the fuck are you doing? Trying to wind Saperstein up again? Jesus, Sunshine, it's not worth it!"

"It might be," he replied softly.

"How can _anything_ be worth it?" I found myself speaking more abruptly than I meant to, but Christ, what was the kid thinking of?

"You tell me."

I glowered at the wall since I couldn't glare at him. "Sunshine, I don't know what game you think you're playing now, but I …"

"I was wondering if your offer still stood," he interrupted. "Because if it does, I'm prepared to break the rules too. If that's what you still want."

I froze. I really couldn't say a word.

"Brian? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here. I'm just a little surprised, that's all … the last time I offered, you turned me down flat. What made you change your mind?"

"I've had a lot of time to think, over the last few weeks. About what you said, about things I didn't want to face … and … look, Brian, I don't want to talk about this over the phone. Not with Ethan here. Could you come and pick me up?"

I really didn't hesitate. "Give me the address," I told him.

* * *

When I arrived outside the rundown old brownstone in Oakland Justin was waiting under the streetlamp, the harsh light turning his hair to a halo of silver. He hurried over when he saw the Jeep approaching, favouring his right leg a little but moving a lot more easily than when I'd seen him last. He hopped in and I threw a quick glance at him: faded blue plaid shirt, dark blue T shirt, baggy grey sweats. Whatever effect I might have had on him during our brief acquaintance, it sure as hell hadn't improved his dress sense.

"Thank you," he said, looking nervously at me. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"What would you have done if I hadn't?"

He shrugged. "Stayed with Ethan tonight. Gone back to the _Starlight_ tomorrow and given Brad some bullshit story – which I'll do in any case."

I shook my head at him. "You like playing with fire, Sunshine."

"It's one of my faults, I know." He grinned suddenly. "Brad probably won't say anything to Gary, as long as I turn up in the morning. He likes his job too much. It's not like I missed the show, so I'm sure he'll keep his mouth shut as long as _I_ do."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are we back with the whole eat, drink and be merry thing again?"

"I guess." He reached over and laid a hand on my thigh. "Are you telling me I'm wrong?"

"I don't know," I replied, trying to concentrate on driving and ignoring the way my dick was responding to his touch. "I suppose it depends on your reasons for doing it."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because it does, right? I know all there is to know about managing pain, believe me. And I'll tell you something - however hard you try to block it out, it's still gonna be there when you wake up tomorrow morning." Hold on, was I _arguing_ with him? Here he was, freely offering himself to me, and I was trying to talk him out of it? What the fuck? "You said it couldn't be me, it couldn't be anyone. You said you had a deal. So what's happened to change things?"

"You, of course," he said simply. "You happened." He was silent for a moment while his fingers continued to trace small circles on my leg, and I fought the urge to pull over and jump him right there in the Jeep. "It's just … like I told you, you made me think about things. Things I hadn't wanted to think about. Gary's had his operation now: he won't be able to fuck anyone for a few weeks yet, but when he can … I don't want him to be my first, Brian. That's what I promised … but I don't think I could stand it." He hung his bright head. "And I doubt I'll get another opportunity to do anything about it."

Christ. He _was_ a virgin. My dick reared up, straining painfully against my jeans. "You'd have to be fucking insane if you let him be the one to pop your cherry, Sunshine. In fact, you'd have to be insane to want to be with him at all! And I know that you're not. So why the fuck are you even considering going back with him?"

"That's none of your business." He was sullen now, and his hand wasn't on my thigh anymore.

"You made it my business when you called me. Now it's personal. So if you want me to take you home tonight, I want some answers … otherwise I'll just drop you back at Ethan's." It was probably a completely hollow threat, but he wasn't to know that. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to will my dick to deflate.

"It's complicated," he said, his voice so low I could hardly hear him.

"What isn't?" I glanced over at him but his face was hidden by the smooth fall of his hair. "Come on, Sunshine," I said as coaxingly as I could. "I'd like to try and help you. The fucker's got you by the balls over something, hasn't he?"

His laugh was sad. "No. It's not mine he's got hold of."

"Then whose?"

He was silent, chewing his nail for a moment. Then he looked up at me, his eyes bleak. "My father's," he whispered.

Fuck, I knew that bastard was involved somehow. I gripped the wheel tighter, fighting to keep the anger from showing on my face and my voice to stay neutral. "How is that your problem? I thought you didn't have anything to do with him."

"I didn't, not after he threw me out. I still don't. He came to see me a couple of months after I started at PIFA … I wouldn't have agreed to meet him, but I thought there might be trouble at home…" His voice tailed off. "Can I have a smoke?"

"Sure." I pulled out the pack and handed it to him. He extracted a cigarette, dug around in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. I saw his profile briefly illuminated by the flame as he lit up.

"When did you know you were gay?" he asked suddenly.

"I think I always did," I replied honestly. I wasn't usually given to sharing the past unless it was with Mikey, but I figured if I opened up a little then so might he. "I never fancied girls, not in the slightest … in fact, I played sports at school just so I could be around all the hot jocks in the locker room." I grinned at him. "But I

guess I really figured it out when I was fourteen and saw our soccer coach in the shower. I'd gone back to get something I'd forgotten – my boots, I think – and

there he was. So I climbed straight in the shower with him, with all my clothes still on, got down on my knees, and started to suck him off."

Justin was watching me wide eyed. "No shit! What did he do?"

"Nothing," I smirked. "He fucking loved it."

"Wow." He shook his head disbelievingly. "I'd never have had the balls to do something like _that_." He dragged on his cigarette and let out a long plume of smoke. "I guess I was the same … except for the playing sports thing and the blowing a teacher thing, of course. But I always knew I was gay, too. There was this guy in my senior year at school … Chris, he was called … he was a jock, too, and about as straight as they come, or so everyone thought. But he used to watch me, you know? And he was always really sweet to me. Well, one day he had to clean up the store room as detention and I kind of went to help him … anyway, I ended up giving him a hand job instead."

"Ah. Did you get caught?"

"No. And I promised not to say anything, not even to my best friend Daphne who was the only person I'd come out to. So Chris kept dating girls the same as always, but he'd grab the opportunity for a grope with me whenever he got urge. Nothing serious, just heavy petting … and no kissing, of course, because we weren't queer."

I raised my eyebrows. "The fuck you weren't!"

"He said what we were doing didn't count as sex … we were just two guys fooling around."

"And you bought that?" I asked incredulously.

He looked at me as though I was an idiot. "Of course not! I knew what we were doing! I just … I thought I loved him, you see, and I thought he loved me too, at least a little. I wasn't going to try and force him out of the closet; I thought if I gave him enough time he'd see it for himself."

"Didn't work, huh?"

"Nope. And we got caught in the end, anyway. By my father." He took a last draw on his cigarette and stubbed it out savagely. "It was at our Prom, at the Fairmont. I'd taken Daph, and Chris was with his latest bimbo. He'd smuggled in a hip flask and was pretty wasted … anyway, the dance was nearly ended and he started whispering about how we'd never see each other again after we'd graduated and how about grabbing a final quickie while we had the chance. I knew it was stupid, but like I said, I thought I loved him … so I thought, what the hell. So we slipped away downstairs to the garage, found a quiet corner and I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth when a car swung in and pulled up and there we were, caught in the headlights. And of course it had to be my father, coming to pick me and Daph up. Of course he had to be early."

I winced. "Bad luck."

"You think? He was already beyond pissed that I was going to PIFA instead of Dartmouth, like he wanted. Finding out I liked cock … well, I thought his head would explode. And then Chris started yammering on about how I'd been stalking him all year and how I'd followed him down and taken advantage of him because he was drunk, and Dad was more than happy to believe him. He called me a dirty little faggot and he … slapped me. I honestly think he'd have beaten the crap out of me but people were beginning to arrive to pick up their kids so he couldn't really do anything, not without letting all his friends know he had a queer son. So he told me he wanted me gone, from his home and his life. He'd already paid my fees at PIFA, which included dorm accommodation, so I had no reason not to leave as soon as I'd graduated. He said he'd continue to pay me basic support as long as I stayed at college or until I turned twenty-one, whichever came first, after which I'd be on my own. He told me he'd consider it money well spent as long as it got rid of me."

I could hear the bastard saying it. "What about Chris?"

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, Dad didn't want to ruin a fine, upstanding young man's reputation just because he'd been assaulted by a filthy queer when he was too drunk to defend himself. Nothing happened to Chris except for the fact that he suddenly turned into a rabid homophobe who made my life hell until we graduated. So that was the end of my little love affair."

"Why didn't you out the fucker?" I demanded, outraged.

He shrugged. "I only had to put up with it for a few weeks, and I usually managed to avoid him most of the time. I just wanted to keep my head down and get out of there. Get out of home. Just get away." He sighed. "It was horrible. Dad wasn't talking to me, and Mom wasn't talking to him because he was throwing me out. I wanted to go to PIFA and study music. That's all I wanted, even though it meant leaving Mom and Molly. But I figured it was just making things worse for them, having me around."

I pricked my ears up. He'd tip-toed around for a while, but I sensed now he was getting close to what he really wanted to tell me. "Molly?" I queried.

"My sister. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Brian?"

"One sister. Again, we're not close. She takes after my mother."

"Nobody thought Molly would live," Justin said. "I'm pretty sure my father wishes she hadn't … she's severely handicapped, you see."

I nearly said, _yes, I know_ but I stopped myself in time. "That's a bitch. I'm sorry."

"He wanted to put her in a nursing home, but Mom wouldn't hear of it. The doctors said she wouldn't live to see her first birthday, but she'll be nine in a couple of months." I could hear the pride in his voice.

"Does she live at home?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Mom takes care of her … well, we both did, while I was living there. Things must be harder for her now." He laughed suddenly. "Poor Dad … he's so disappointed in his children. One's a faggot and the other's a cripple! Of course, it's Mom's fault: God couldn't possibly visit a punishment like that on such a devout man as my father." His voice was as bitter as his words. "I suppose it's not surprising he found someone to take his mind off things."

I threw him a startled look, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the road in front of us. "He's having an affair?" It hadn't occurred to me that he knew.

"Oh, it's a little more than that … it's been going on for years. In fact, he's basically set up a second home with some little floozy twenty years younger than him… unfortunately, she has expensive tastes – very expensive – and it seems he's been cooking the books to keep her."

"He _told_ you this?" I asked incredulously.

"Yep, when he came to see me. I'd just rented the place in Oakland with Ethan, who was studying music at PIFA too. I had my heart in my mouth when Dad walked in because he looked so weird, and I was sure he was going to tell me bad news about Molly … but then he just started talking. I didn't get what he was saying at first, because he was just _talking_ – not apologising, not showing any guilt or hurt or anything, or even _trying_ to make me understand - just basically telling me that he had a fucking mistress and that he'd been 'forced' to dip into the firm's finances trying to support two households. Like I didn't even have the right to be angry or upset! Like it shouldn't affect me at all! I started yelling at him about how he could do that to Mom and Molly, and do you know what he said? He said Molly" – his voice cracked a little – "he said she didn't have enough brains to know what was going on anyway, and that Mom couldn't be regarded as a true wife to him anymore because she had 'decided' to waste all her time and energy looking after a kid who should have died years ago! That she wasn't fulfilling her conjugal obligations! He said that to _me,_ her _son, _as if it somehow gave him the right to go looking somewhere else!" I could see the glint of tears on his cheeks and he scrubbed roughly at them with the sleeve of his shirt. "Although, given his attitude to a woman's place in life, I guess he believed it did – in fact he seemed to think he deserved credit for doing his Christian duty by continuing to support them instead of just walking away."

I said nothing. I knew that my own father had used the same reason as justification for screwing around on my mother – fuck, I'd often heard him throw the accusation at her when she'd been unwise enough to question him coming home reeking of booze and cheap perfume. _If you won't put out, then I'll find someone who will! What the fuck do you expect, you frigid bitch?_ The more she'd wept, the more he'd delighted in goading her. And people wondered why I didn't believe in fucking marriage!

"He said he had the Internal Revenue breathing down his neck so he had to come up with an awful lot of cash in one helluva hurry," Justin continued, "otherwise it would be jail for him and curtains for _Taylor Electronics._ He'd already mortgaged the house up to the hilt. I told him I didn't give a damn what happened to him; it was Mom and Molly I was worried about. I'd already assumed he was pulling the plug on college, but from the way he was talking I couldn't see how that would be enough to save him. And that was when he told me that 'Crystal' knew someone wealthy enough to be able to cover the shortfall in the books … someone who was willing to bail out his cheating, lying ass."

My eyebrows shot up. "_Saperstein?_"

"Yeah. Good ol' Gary. And the only thing he wanted in exchange … was me."

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

He said it so matter-of-factly. My mouth was hanging open. "So … you … your father wanted you to … what the _fuck_?" I spluttered. "He _sold_ you? Like a fucking piece of meat?"

"Oh God, no. It was business, like I told you. Gary had seen me singing years ago and he'd wanted to manage me then, only Dad sent him away with a flea in his ear. Now Dad needed him, and he'd washed his hands of me, so it was a different matter. He said: _I have a proposal for you, Justin."_ His voice dropped a couple of registers in an eerily accurate impression of his father's, not seeming to notice that he'd accidently let slip his real name in the process. "_I wouldn't ask it as a favour because I wouldn't expect any sense of gratitude or responsibility from someone like you. But since Mr. Saperstein is offering you the opportunity to flaunt yourself in exactly the way you want to, I can't see a reason for you to refuse_, _other than vindictiveness towards me._ _ After all, it's not like you'd ever be successful singing the rubbish you write." _ He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, rubbing hard. "See, Dad's like Gary. They can't understand that I _never_ wrote songs to become famous or to make shitloads of money … I'm not interested in any of that crap. I wanted to study music because I wanted to write the best songs I could, that's all. Because it's something I _have_ to do, like breathing." His smile was sad. "So there you have it: Dad got his bailout, Gary got the hot new talent the _Starlight _needed and I got the career I never wanted."

"Jesus Christ, that's the most fucked-up thing I ever heard!" I exploded, my fury getting the better of me. "Your father's no better than a fucking pimp!"

"I don't _know _that," Justin replied soberly. "Gary made it clear what he expected of me - and what I was agreeing to - the first time I went to the _Starlight,_ but he said he never told Dad that part of the bargain. To him, it really was just a business deal … at least, I'd like to think so."

_You're wrong! _I wanted to scream at him. _He fucking knows, whether Saperstein told him or not … he just doesn't give a shit! He thinks you fucking deserve it! _ The sick bastards, both of them! My anger flailed around aimlessly before focussing on the only available target. "Did I say you weren't insane? Well, I just changed my mind! Why the _fuck_ would you ever agree to such a thing?"

He stared at me incredulously. "Because of Mom and Molly, why do you think? What would happen to them if Dad went to jail and the business went under? The house would be repossessed and Molly would have to go into a home … she wouldn't understand, she hates strangers! And what would Mom do? She married straight from college and Dad would never let her get a job, even before Molly was born. How is she going to earn enough to support herself? She stood by me when Dad told her I was gay, and if it hadn't been for her he would never have paid for me to go to PIFA. How could I let her find out she was going to lose everything because Dad was more concerned with keeping his girlfriend happy than he was with keeping us safe? That, all the times she was struggling with Molly while he was supposed to be off on some dreary business trip, he was really fucking Crystal in Paris or Maui?"

"You are not responsible for your parents' lives!" I was perilously close to yelling at him. "Your father fucking blackmailed you, you know that, don't you?"

"No, he didn't!" Justin protested, his eyes very wide. "It was _my_ decision! He was very clear about that. I _could_ have stayed at college - the first year was paid for, and he told me that if he went to jail I would probably qualify for a grant for the rest of the course. So basically I could choose to stand back and let him sink, knowing he was taking Mom and Molly with him … or I could use the talent I had to help them. Ultimately, I made the only choice I _could _make, but it was still all mine."

Christ. _Christ! _The _stupid, _brave little twat! Craig Taylor had played him like a fucking trout … not only that, the bastard had neatly shifted all the responsibility for the deal onto the kid's head. '_His'_ decision … what a fucking joke! And yet, even through the fury I felt towards the man, I found myself wondering how much of a coincidence it could be that Taylor's secretary girlfriend not only 'happened' to know someone wealthy and willing enough to shoulder Taylor's financial fuck-up, but that the man in question 'happened' to be Saperstein – the guy who stood to make most out of the deal; the same guy who'd had his sleazy, avaricious little eyes on the kid for years. "Emotional blackmail is still blackmail!" I snapped. "And how is anything going to change? Is your father going to stop seeing his girlfriend, or running his business into the ground to keep her? And your mother's still living a lie, she just doesn't know it. You can only juggle plates for so long, Justin … sooner or later they're going to come crashing down all over your father's head, and all this will have been for fucking nothing!"

He blinked at the sound of his name, and then flushed a little as he remembered his slip-up. Part of me wanted to confess then and there that he'd only been confirming what I already knew, but my more prudent half – the one that believed in telling people what they needed to know and no more – clamped my lips shut: it probably wasn't the moment to let him know how deeply I'd been nosing around. As it was, Justin gave me a rueful glance before answering. "Maybe. Perhaps all I _am _doing is buying her a little more time. But maybe this way, if I stick with Gary and I _am _as good as he thinks I am … maybe I can make enough to support them myself one day. Then it won't matter what Dad does."

"Until you can't stand it any more and you end up trying to off yourself again?" I raised my eyebrows at him and shrugged. "Who knows, this time you might succeed."

He went very still. "How did you find out? Did Gary tell you?"

I shook my head. "He didn't have to. I worked it out for myself." We turned onto Tremont and I headed for my usual parking place. "That's why he won't leave you on your own, isn't it? Because he's afraid you'll try again."

"Yeah," he admitted on a long breath as I cut the Jeep's engine and turned towards him. "It was a bad time for me, learning to live with Gary. Not just because of what he wanted from me and how repulsive he was … it was the way I was lying to Mom. While I was at PIFA I'd called her every day to check on Molly, but once I'd moved to the _Starlight_ I cut it back to once a week. Gary always listened to my calls, for one thing: he didn't like me talking to her at all, but I persuaded him that if she didn't hear from me occasionally she'd come looking for me, which was the last thing he wanted. But really it was just too hard to talk her … I was afraid she'd guess something was wrong, and she'd wheedle out of me what was going on. So I kept putting off calling her, which made me feel even more guilty. And then Ethan was lying for me too, letting her think I was still at his place and making up excuses why I wasn't there if she called … I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing, but I felt so fucking _bad _all the time, Brian!" He gazed up at me, his eyes full of shame and hurt, and I felt cold fury building again towards the men who had caused it. I pulled out my Marlboro's, lit two, and handed one to Justin. I didn't know about him, but I sure as hell needed a smoke.

"So what exactly did this deal entail?" I asked, wanting to keep him talking.

"That I'd let him manage my career as he saw fit and that I'd perform exclusively at the _Starlight," _Justin replied, taking a quick, nervous drag on the cigarette. I noticed his hand was shaking.

"And the rest of it?" I prompted. If I was going to get the whole story out of him, it would be now or never.

He huffed a little reluctant breath. "You want details? Okay. That he'd be my first, once he'd had surgery. He hadn't been able to fuck anyone for years because they had to wait until the deformity had stopped growing before they could operate, so he wanted something memorable … and he'd decided that memorable something was going to be me. In the mean time, all he could take were very quick blow-jobs, so I figured I could handle it. There wasn't any danger to me, of course, but still it was disgusting, having to put that _thing_ in my mouth."

"You should have fucking bitten it off," I growled.

"You think I didn't want to? My only comfort was knowing that he was in agony every time he got a hard on. It was almost worth getting him all hot and bothered just to see the expression on his face … knowing that the more he wanted me, the more fucking unbearable it was for him!" For a moment I saw his father's hardness in his eyes. "You accused me of deliberately baiting him and you were right. It was the only way I had of proving I was still _me, _that he hadn't taken everything … " He fell silent, seemingly lost in thought, a thin stream of smoke drifting from the cigarette in his fingers, while I wondered how much worse the story would get. I remembered lying in the guest suite at the _Stardust, _imagining and dismissing reasons why the kid seemed to have sold himself to the Sap: now I knew, and I almost wished I didn't, because I couldn't see it made any difference whether Justin had given his consent or not. To me, this sounded a lot like rape.

"Gary didn't keep me on such a tight leash back then," he went on eventually. "I don't think he wanted to push too hard too fast, because I'd never hidden the fact that I despised him and I think he was afraid I might renege if he didn't let me have a little freedom. Besides, I think he was actually relieved to get rid of me when we weren't working, so when he didn't have me learning new songs or rehearsing or trying on outfits he let me spend my time in the guest suite, playing my guitar and writing … he even let me go out, so long as I didn't trick, stayed away from home and turned up when I was supposed to. I still had some money of my own, so when it all got too much I'd wander around the mall or down by the river. More often than not I'd end up in a bar - partly because I knew it pissed Gary off, but mainly just trying to get drunk enough to forget what a fuck-up my life was. Usually all I managed to do was get angry, and pick arguments with people until they threw me out … then one day the bartender refused to serve me any more, so I threw a bottle and smashed a window. At least, that's what they told me, because I don't remember it. I got arrested and Gary had to come and bail me out: he managed to talk the bar owner out of pressing charges but that was the end of my freedom. He deleted me from the security system so I was basically a prisoner unless he went with me, and barred me from the guest suite - he even locked up my guitar so I couldn't play any more. He was so fucking angry … he'd been running a big promo campaign for _Sirius_' debut and the last thing he wanted was any negative publicity about me being arrested for criminal damage. That was the first time he 'punished' me."

I was gripping my cigarette so tightly I crushed it, so I ditched it in the ashtray. Justin's head was bowed, and I hurriedly laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder because I didn't want him feeling guilty or ashamed. I felt a warm glow of pleasure when he tilted his head in response and brushed his cheek against my knuckles.

"Gary was always into the kinky shit," he continued. "When he was giving you the Grand Tour, did you notice a door off the corridor to the bedroom?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He said it was his office."

Justin snorted. "That's what he told me. He always kept it locked, so I figured he kept all his private stuff in there. Well, I was right, but not in the way I thought. It's this small, windowless room, and it's got a table with cuffs, and a sling, and manacles on the walls and racks of whips and canes and shit like that."

"A dungeon." I was kicking myself; I should have suspected it, as soon as I'd seen that white, serene bedroom.

"Yeah. It's where he used to take rent boys who didn't mind a little S&M and who wouldn't care what shape his dick was in as long as he paid them enough."

"He hired hookers?" I thought about the times I'd seen Saperstein at Babylon and the kids who'd hung around him. I'd have taken a bet that a lot of them were under age.

"Yeah … exclusively, before he got hold of me. He didn't have any choice, not unless he wanted the whole gay community to know he had a dick like a pretzel. In fact, if he knew I'd told you, he probably _would_ kill me."

Well, I had a strange premonition that the condition of Gary Saperstein's cock would shortly become the hottest piece of gossip on Liberty Avenue. Like the next time I hit Babylon.

"Flagellation is what really gets him off, as I found out," Justin said, taking a last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out. "That first time he took me in there he got carried away … he hadn't brought anyone back since I'd arrived, so I guess he'd been missing it. I thought I was going to die … I couldn't walk properly for a week, which really pissed him off because he had to delay my opening. After that, he used the dungeon whenever he thought I deserved it, and even though he toned it down a lot there were other performances I missed because he'd gone too far, especially when he was tweaked. It became kind of a battle of wills between us: Gary wanted to break me, and I was determined he wouldn't. I guess … it's difficult to explain … it was like I'd found another way to get at him. He needed me to be fit enough to appear, so if I could get him so wound up that he forgot and had to cancel a show because of the damage _he'd_ caused, then it was like I'd won." His laugh was a little shaky. "Guess that's pretty twisted, huh?"

"No," I told him honestly. "It was the only thing you had any control over." I understood what he was talking about better than he imagined and I knew too well how rebellion and defiance could sometimes become the only weapons left to cling to, the only things that could keep you sane; it made me sick to my stomach that he'd been reduced to such desperation. "But, Christ, Justin! Don't you realise how dangerous it is? He should never do shit like that to you when he's high! If he loses control he could fucking kill you!"

"Maybe there was a part of me that wanted him to," Justin admitted bleakly. "But he's not as dumb as he looks. He figured out what I was up to soon enough, and he learned how much I could take. And one night, I'd just had enough. I couldn't face any more lying, or worrying about Mom and Molly, or any more of Ethan's disapproval, or any more playing _Sirius. _I couldn't stand any more days listening to Gary's bull, or any more hours spent tied up in his fucking dungeon. But it was losing my music that hurt most … it was like I'd lost my soul, and I couldn't recognize myself." He looked down at his hands, picking restlessly at the material of his sweats. "He always crashed hard afterwards … so this night I waited until he was out cold and then raided his stash. He had a good supply of prescription drugs - courtesy of Stanton – and I knew he used things like Diazepam to come down when he was tweaked. I took everything that looked like sleeping tablets, got a bottle of vodka from the bar, shut myself in the bathroom and swallowed the lot. Then I just curled up on the floor and waited to go to sleep."

I wanted to pull him to me, to comfort him somehow. I settled on twisting my fingers in the long strands of his hair, tugging it gently. "So what happened?"

He shrugged. "I took too much, I guess, or I just had a bad reaction. I threw most of it back up, apparently, and somehow didn't choke to death in the process. Gary found me comatose a couple of hours later and totally freaked because he thought I was dead. He called Stanton, who pumped the rest of it out and got me to hospital … I don't know what story he gave them, but I guess he convinced them it was accidental. They were worried that my kidneys had shut down, so I spent days in intensive care on a drip while they waited to see if I woke up or not. As you can see, I did."

Sympathy wasn't a common emotion for me; I'd been brought up in the Hard Knocks School of Life, and my attitude had always been to suck it up and get on with it. But the idea of this kid being driven to try and end his life like that and then waking up in hospital with only his abuser for company made my skin crawl. I wondered if Saperstein had informed Craig Taylor that his son was critically ill, and if the bastard had shown any interest. I knew who _I'd _like to take a fucking whip to! "Have you tried again?" I asked, dreading the answer, but to my relief he shook his head.

"No. In some ways things got better … I'd frightened the shit out of Gary, so he backed off a lot afterwards. He let me have my guitar back … and I have to make a major fuck-up now to warrant a trip to the dungeon, and even then it's nothing like as bad as it used to be. But the main reason I wouldn't try again is because Gary told me exactly what would happen if I did … he'd go to the IRS about Dad. He knows the accountant Dad paid to straighten out the books and he's got dates and details of everything Dad's spent on Crystal – cars and holidays and jewellery, not to mention the fucking penthouse he bought her – and he promised that if I died then he'd make sure that Mom and Molly would be the ones to suffer. So I would have to be the worst kind of coward to leave them to face all that alone, wouldn't I?"

Coward wasn't a description I'd ever have applied to him, but I wasn't about to argue the point. I wanted him safe, and if fear for his family kept him that way then so be it … until I could come up with a better solution. Because I was determined to do just that – as soon as I figured out _how_ - and in the meantime I could at least show him that there was so much more to being a gay man than the parasitic travesty of a relationship that Saperstein offered.

"Of course Gary became completely paranoid about me trying again, even though I'd given my word I wouldn't," Justin was saying, "so he cleared out all the booze and locked up his stash. He doesn't seem to realise that if I really wanted to end it I could just as easily slit my wrists, or hang myself with a fucking sheet. I only have to wait until he's asleep again." He offered a small smile. "But the worst of it is that he can't ever relax if I'm out of his sight, so I've had him virtually glued to my side day and night for the past six months … and that's a punishment I wouldn't wish on anyone, believe me."

Given the choice I'd probably take the whip, too, but I didn't like hearing him talk so glibly about suicide. "How did you put up with it?" I asked. I was still playing with his hair; my fingers seemed to appreciate the way it slid through them.

"By switching off, I guess. Just taking it day by day, hour by hour, and not thinking about any of it. I was numb, really … until one night I looked up and the most beautiful man I'd ever seen walked through the door." He smiled at me radiantly, and his blue eyes held all the sparkle I'd longed to see there.

I felt a strange warmth in my cheeks … was I fucking _blushing_? Over a compliment from a little blond twink? It was almost enough to have me reaching for my crotch to check that my dick was still there. I tried to cover my embarrassment with an eye-roll. "Really? Because I didn't think you'd noticed."

"Oh, I noticed. That was when I began to wake up." He leaned closer and I inhaled the familiar scent of apples as he pressed his warm lips to mine. "So? Am I staying or going? Are you going to invite me in, or are you taking me back to Ethan's?"

I didn't bother even answering him. I just kissed him back.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

_A.N._

_Okay, I've never had to say this before, but real life health issues have been a bit of a problem recently and I haven't been able to keep up the pace of posting. So I've ended this chapter at what I hope is an acceptable point, and I'm going to try and get a little ahead before posting again. Please don't be discouraged - I've never not finished a story and this certainly isn't going to be abandoned. I have the rest of it planned out, I just need to write it up. So if it's a couple of weeks before I post again, don't panic!_

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I had my left arm around him, holding him close against me while my right hand tangled in his hair as I kissed him. His arms were wrapped around my neck and his erection was pressing against my thigh, and I was absolutely sure he was just as aware of mine digging into his belly. I could feel his heart racing and his body trembling, so I did the only thing I could think of to reassure him that he still had control.

"Undress me," I murmured against his ear, and he pulled back a little so that he could see my face. He looked confused. "It's okay," I smiled. "Go ahead."

His fingers grasped the hem of my wife-beater and I raised my arms so he could pull it off. He stood looking at me, his eyes wide, and then hesitantly he began to explore my skin; trailing his hands over my biceps and across my shoulders, lingering over my chest. His eyes flashed up at me questioningly so I nodded permission, although his fingers were driving me crazy and it was all I could do not to rip his clothes off. "You can touch me, Justin."

His head swooped forward and I felt his tongue brushing my left nipple, and then he was kissing and licking his way up to my throat before attaching himself to my earlobe. Oh God, oh God, oh God … my dick was throbbing so hard I was sure he could see it pulsing through my jeans. If he didn't hurry up I was going to come in my fucking pants like a virgin.

I let out a breath of relief when his hands eventually reached my fly and began to fumble with the buttons. The urge to help him was enormous, but I forced myself to keep still and let him go at his own pace. When he'd got them all undone he moved his hands to the waistband and began to push the jeans over my hips, so I gave a few little shimmies to help them on their way and then stepped out of them, while Justin reached down to find what he'd uncovered. Judging from the expression on his face he hadn't expected me to be going commando and his mouth popped open with shock as my dick appeared magically in his hands. I fought to keep the amusement from my expression as he gaped up at me.

"Oh my God, Brian … you're _huge!"_

I smirked at him. "They say it's not a question of what you've got, it's how you use it…" I spread my arms, displaying myself to him. "Well, I've got it, _and_ I know how to use it."

He was staring at my dick like he'd never seen one before: I reflected he probably hadn't, at least not one like mine. "Um … will it fit?" he asked nervously.

I stepped close to him and wrapped my arms around him. "Of course it will fit," I replied, kissing his head. "Don't worry … I'll make sure you're good and ready." I took his face in my hands and made him look at me. "I'll stop anytime you want me to," I assured him, praying to God that he wasn't about to chicken out. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sunshine; I promise."

He nodded, and smiled a little.

"Okay. My turn." I resisted the urge to just tear off his fugly shirt and proceeded instead to undress him with all the care I could, keeping him close to me as I unbuttoned it and slid it off his shoulders, kissing and caressing his skin as I exposed it. I stroked his arms as I licked and sucked on his throat before nibbling my way along his collar bones, tasting salt and his cologne, feeling his pulse quicken as his skin flushed beneath my lips. His pores were giving off a heady fragrance of musky arousal that was intoxicating; I needed more, so I relieved him of his t shirt and tossed it away. What sweet little pecs he had … I reached for his nipples and rubbed them gently between my forefingers and thumbs, watching as he closed his eyes and arched into my touch. When I dipped my head and began sucking and biting them he flinched away, but I held him steady with my hands braced against his shoulder blades until I felt him relax. Then I went down on my knees, holding onto his hips as I did so, and explored his belly button with the tip of my tongue as my hands slid around him to cup the cheeks of his luscious ass.

"Brian…" he moaned, pressing his body against me as I kneaded the firm muscles with my fingers.

"Mm?" I was too absorbed in kissing my way down his belly and enjoying the way his skin jumped beneath my lips to bother with speech.

"_Please…"_

I detached my mouth long enough to smile up at him. "Patience, Sunshine. We've got all night." Although he was probably right about speeding things along a little – I hadn't even got his pants off yet. I lifted his feet one after another so that I could remove his sneakers and socks and then reached up to slide his sweats down his legs while he balanced himself with a hand on my shoulder. He was left standing there in nothing but his knee brace and a pair of plaid French Connection boxers and I shook my head. What was his thing with plaid? The kid's taste in clothing truly was execrable.

Well, they were both about to become history. Time to move this into the bedroom. I stood, lifted him off his feet and carried him up the steps, relishing the feel of his warmth against my naked skin. I laid him down on the duvet, switched on the blue lights and paused for a moment to admire how they made his pale flesh glow against the dark satin. "Is it okay to take this off?" I asked, laying my hand on the brace.

He looked doubtful. "I guess … as long as you don't put too much strain on my knee."

"I don't plan to." I undid the Velcro straps and gently removed it, putting it out of the way on the nightstand before sitting down beside him to unwrap my prize. I hooked my fingers under the waistband of his shorts and slid them down his legs and off. Then I just sat and looked at him.

I wished I could come up with some less hackneyed adjectives to describe him, because I'd used them all before. Young of course, with his slender, graceful build and smooth clear skin, hairless except for the blond fuzz on his legs and the slightly darker thatch of curls framing his cock: vulnerable too in his nudity, his breath coming a little too fast and an apprehension that wasn't far short of fear widening his eyes. Yet there was a wantonness in him as well, lying there spread for my inspection, his dick erect and eager, a flush of arousal creeping over the pale skin of his chest and throat. But really there was only one word to describe what he looked like lying there, with his hair fanned out against the pillow and his eyes reflecting the colour of the light bathing him, so I said it. "You're beautiful," I told him.

He smiled then, a true Sunshine smile. "Really?"

I stood up, and my cock stood with me. "Really," I assured him, climbing onto the mattress and spreading my body over his. I tangled my fingers in his hair and began to kiss him, covering his face with hot, wet kisses before attacking his mouth. His lips opened without prompting and I plundered what I found inside, ravaging his tongue while our teeth clashed and our noses mashed together. When I finally pulled away he was panting, his lips wet and plump. I knelt between his thighs and watched the reaction on his face as I reached down to grasp his dick.

"Oh my God, Brian…" His mouth was a little o of surprise. I stroked him, slowly and gently, running my fingers up his whole length and back, caressing the head with my thumb. His whole body was quivering.

"You like that?"

"Mmm." His eyes were closed; the tip of his tongue poked out, moistening his lower lip. I wanted to suck it.

"You like rimming?"

He blinked at me. "I don't know what that is."

"Then it's time you found out." In all honesty, it was something I rarely did with tricks for the simple reason that I'd much rather stick my dick up their asses than my tongue. But this kid … I couldn't wait to taste him. I speeded up my hand.

"Brian…" he was beginning to writhe, his head thrashing from side to side. "I'm gonna come..."

"You're supposed to. You won't last otherwise." I leaned forward and licked him, one slow motion from balls to tip. He cried out when I took him in my mouth and began to suck, and he came as soon as I pressed the tip of my tongue into his slit. I swallowed every last drop and when I was sure he was dry I crawled up his body again and let him taste his own sweetness when I kissed him, hot and nasty.

"Roll over," I whispered.

"I can't kneel," he protested, sounding panicky. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Isn't there any other way?"

"I know you can't," I soothed him. "And don't worry, there are plenty of other positions. I'm just going to prepare you, that's all."

His smile was uncertain. "Prepare me? What am I, the dish of the day?"

I reminded myself that he was a virgin. Still… "Haven't you ever used a dildo or something?"

He blushed a little. Fuck, that was cute. "Gary's used them on me."

I tried to shut out the nightmare picture _that_ presented. "Well … he stretches you first, doesn't he? Gets you loosened up?"

"No, he just uses a lot of lube. It hurts," he said simply, looking away.

I closed my eyes for a second and then leaned down to him, resting my forehead against his. "This won't," I promised. "This will feel good … very, very good. You trust me, don't you Sunshine?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here."

That was enough for me. I wasn't about to let him down; on the contrary, I was determined to give him an experience that he'd never forget, however long he lived and whoever he ended up with – one that would wipe out the memory of whatever the Sap had done to him. I pushed gently on his shoulder and he rolled over obediently, while I grabbed a couple of pillows and tucked them under his hips to raise them slightly. Then I took my place between his thighs again.

Oh my God, his ass was everything I'd dreamed about. The rest of him was pretty good, but Christ, this was absolute perfection as far as I was concerned. Flawless skin – and I was so thankful that the Sap hadn't caused any permanent damage – pert as a dancer's, with two entrancing dimples. I ran my hands slowly up the back of his thighs and then rubbed my palms gently over his buttocks, feeling the texture of his skin before grasping them firmly in my fingers. Much as I hated to compare myself with the Sap in any way, I had to admit to understanding his obsession a little more now that I'd come face-to-face with it, as it were. I could only too easily imagine putting the kid, in one of his sassier moments, over my knee and treating this glorious ass to a nice hard spanking; I could imagine how it would look, all hot and rosy, and my cock got harder than ever.

His glutes were clenching rhythmically beneath my hands, and I was pretty sure he was humping the duvet. I didn't want him coming again yet, so I reluctantly released his ass and leaned forward over his back, taking my weight on my hands. I touched the very tip of my tongue to the soft skin at the nape of his neck and then very slowly trailed it down the long curve of his spine, through the fine hairs where it met his pelvis, down to the top of the cleft between his buttocks. I used my thumbs to spread them and he gasped as I exposed the most secret part of him. My tongue continued its journey until it touched the puckered skin of his sphincter and I smiled as I felt him jump: I flicked my tongue at it a few times, pressing my forearms against his thighs to keep him still, and then began to alternately kiss and gently nip at the tiny ridges of spasming flesh until he was squirming and moaning beneath me. The fragrance of his musk was all around me and I rubbed my face in it, scraping my stubble against the delicate skin as I did so. I thought from the muffled sounds he was making that he might have actually been biting the pillow at that point. .

When I was satisfied that he thoroughly understood the concept of rimming, I sat up and reached for the lube. I squirted a generous amount on my fingers, talking to him as I did so. "I'm going to stretch you a little now. Okay?"

He nodded and I slid my right forefinger carefully into him. I knew this wouldn't be uncomfortable but I was still gentle, working the lube around inside him and then brushing against his prostate. He was making the most amazingly incoherent noises as I slowly eased in a second. "Still okay?"

"God, yes. Yes," he gasped. "Please, _please _don't stop!"

I didn't mean to. I kept scissoring my fingers, moving them in and out until I was able to insert a third and he gave a low growl of both pain and arousal. I kissed the base of his spine as I carefully pulled out of him. "You're as ready as you'll ever be. On your back, Sunshine." He rolled over and I snatched the pillows out of the way before grabbing a condom, tearing open the wrapper and rolling it onto my aching, neglected cock. I slathered it with lube and then I was back between his thighs.

"Put your legs up on my shoulders," I instructed, helping him place them. "Let me know if your knee hurts."

"It's not my knee I'm thinking about," he retorted breathlessly as I crouched over him, folding him in half. I guided my dick into place and then slowly pressed forward until I felt it pass his sphincter, when I was stopped by his gasp of pain.

"Okay, Sunshine," I told him, taking his hands in mine so that he had something to hold onto. "That's a bad as it gets, I promise. Now just relax … you're fine."

He blinked the moisture out of his eyes, but he managed a small smile as well. I tensed myself and gripped him a little more firmly. "Try and push me back out. That'll open you up more."

As soon as I felt his muscles loosen I pressed forward again and slid half way into him. His mouth fell open at the sensation so I leaned into him and captured whatever sounds he might have been going to make with my tongue. He was kissing me back just as hard, so I told myself that the pain couldn't be too bad. "Once more and we're there," I encouraged him. He took a deep breath as he obeyed and suddenly there I was: balls deep in him, as hot and as tight as I could ever have imagined. I held very still, watching his face, giving him time to adjust to my presence inside him; when I felt his hips tilt towards me I began to move, very slowly and carefully rocking him. His eyes were wide with shock.

"Oh God. I've never … Oh, God." He was beginning to rock with me now, meeting my thrusts, emboldening me to move faster and deeper. I released his hands in order to get a grip on his shoulders for more leverage and he reached up to pull my face in for a kiss. No problem, Sunshine, I'll give you as much of that as you want. I used my tongue to do to his mouth what my cock was currently doing to his ass, and we moaned and panted and slobbered over each other as I began to fuck him in earnest, my hips snapping so that my balls slapped briskly against his ass.

"Fuck … _fuck,_" he was gasping. I wasn't sure whether he was issuing instructions or just cursing in general, so I levered myself up and grabbed his thighs, pressing down on them to alter the angle of his body. I was hitting his prostate constantly now, and he gritted his teeth and started up a high keening noise as I brought him closer to orgasm. He reached between us for his cock but I pushed his hand away.

"I'll take care of that," I whispered. "Just try and hang on a little longer."

His arms flailed, looking for something to grip: he latched on to the edges of the mattress and I saw his knuckles whiten as his fists clenched. He was sweating freely, his hair plastered back from his temples, his face flushed … to me he'd never looked more desirable, and I knew from the tingling in my balls that I wasn't going to last much longer. I didn't want to break my rhythm by reaching for the lube, so I just spat down on his weeping cock and used the saliva to grease him. I started to jerk him off as I pounded into him, and I think he screamed as he came, hot cum spattering both of our stomachs and coating my hand. His ass tightened convulsively around my dick and that did for me as well, bright lights dancing against my eyelids as I pumped into him. I think I might have screamed, too.

Or perhaps I just whispered that I loved him.

After what seemed an eternity I convinced myself that my heart wasn't actually going into arrest and I managed to slow my breathing. I realised that I was still holding him crushed beneath me and suddenly panicked that he'd suffocate, so I forced my arms to release him and pulled my weight off his chest. He took a huge breath as I knelt up.

"You okay?" I gasped.

He nodded, apparently unable to speak.

"I'm gonna pull out, okay? Just stay still." I lowered his legs from my shoulders carefully, knowing that his tendons had to be sore. Then I gripped the base of the condom and he winced as I slowly withdrew. I pulled the condom off, ditched it and collapsed beside him, making sure I fell to his left to avoid his bad knee. Then I pulled him into my arms. "You're sure you're alright?"

He was completely limp against me, his head heavy on my shoulder. "Don't know," he panted. "Ask me … in a minute."

I laid my left hand on his chest, feeling his heart still pounding. We lay there in silence for a while as the sweat on our bodies began to cool, welding us together. "Is it always like that for you?" he asked quietly.

"It's always good," I replied, stroking back his damp hair. "But like that? No, not often." Probably never. There had been many guys I'd been as hungry to fuck over the years, but they'd usually proved a disappointment once I had them in the sack. I couldn't think of one that had fulfilled his promise the way this virgin kid had.

He let out a long breath that sounded almost like a sigh. Then he turned his face and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. "Thank you, Brian."

I smiled. "For what?"

"For being my first. I'm glad …. it wasn't him."

Me, too. And if I had anything to say about it, the Sap wasn't going to be his second either. Or his third. Or any other fucking number you cared to think of.

* * *

I woke in the morning with the sun streaming into the Loft and the first thing I did was to reach out for him, only to find a cold, empty bed. I told myself that he'd probably just gone for a piss, but my heart knew better. The space beside me held no trace of warmth, but that didn't stop me from padding into the bathroom to check. It was as deserted as I'd feared it would be.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and went to check the rest of the Loft, but the only trace of him was a CD case lying on the coffee table with the word _Later_ scrawled across it in black felt tip pen.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

_A.N._

_Thank you all for being so patient about my updates (or lack of them!) So here is the next installment at last ..._

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

My first instinct was to jump in the Jeep and go after the little twat.

Before I'd fallen asleep in the small hours, thoroughly fucked out, I'd found myself thinking incongruously of Melanie Marcus: I hadn't seen or spoken to her since she'd split with Linds and I had no reason to believe she'd look on me with any more favour than she ever had, but she was a damn fine lawyer - particularly where messy family cases were involved - and as aggressive and persistent as a pit-bull. I also felt pretty sure that she would prove as susceptible to a blond, blue-eyed vision of innocence as the rest of her sex appeared to be, and I could just imagine her outrage when she found out how the lad had been coerced into sacrificing himself on the Sap's altar. I had no doubt she'd advise him to the best of her ability, and if there _was_ a way out of the mess Taylor had made, she'd find it.

So I'd meant to wake Justin up with a leisurely blow job, fuck him until he was too fuddled to argue and then convince him that he had to at least talk to Mel … either that, or I'd just handcuff him to the bed permanently. But somehow I'd slept deeper and sounder than I had for months, and I had no idea how long he'd been gone: there was a good chance he was already back at the _Starlight, _bullshitting Brad and trying to broker a deal to keep his mouth shut. _Christ! _Justin had said the guy was a homophobe, and as head of Saperstein's security team he had to be a mean mother-fucker. He'd hardly have been amused by the way Justin had hoodwinked him … what if he decided on a little payback? My jacket was still lying where I'd thrown it last night, and I had my cell in my hand searching for the penthouse number before I thought about what I was doing. If the kid wasn't there or didn't pick up, I could hardly leave a message - I didn't know who might hear it. Plus, Justin had given me no indication of what cover story he'd come up with, so the last thing he'd want was for me to blow it for him: I hesitated, torn between the desire to know that the lad was okay and the fear that I might make things worse for him by trying to find out. Eventually I reasoned that Brad would hardly be likely to physically damage his boss' most prized possession, however much he might want to: if he was after revenge he'd only have to tell the Sap about Justin's absconding and then sit back to enjoy the fallout. Even in that scenario it hadn't sounded as if the Sap were in any condition to travel yet, so I told myself that the kid wasn't in any immediate physical danger. But could I be sure? I needed to see him or at least speak to him, and I cursed myself for not having set up some line of communication before I'd fallen into bed with him. Then it struck me … today was Saturday, so _Sirius_ should be performing. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Ethan's number and pressed call, drumming my fingers impatiently until he picked up.

"Ethan? It's Brian Kinney."

"Oh. Hi." He sounded a little groggy: I'd probably woken him up.

"Is Justin singing tonight?"

"Um … yeah. I mean, unless he's changed his mind …you'd know better than me. Why don't you ask _him_?" His voice sharpened: it held a definite note of accusation, and probably some jealousy too.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, hard. "I can't. He's not here."

"What? Then where the fuck is he? You picked him up last night, right? Didn't he stay with you?"

"Yes, but he's gone now. He said he was going back to the _Starlight._"

"Fuck! On his own? I told him I'd go with him … he was supposed to call me! Why the hell didn't you stop him?" Ethan demanded.

"I never got the chance. I was going to try and talk him out of it this morning, but when I woke up he'd already left."

"And you couldn't have discussed it _before_ you fucked him? Or was it really only his ass you were after?"

I wasn't used to having to defend myself, least of all to some kid, and I found my jaw clenching. "We talked about plenty," I snapped. "And who says I fucked him?"

He snorted. "You telling me you didn't? And now that you've got what you wanted I guess you've lost interest!"

"It was what we _both_ wanted," I pointed out, angered enough by his inquisition to rub his nose in it.

There was silence. "Yeah, well, I hope you were worth it," he retorted bitterly. "Because if Gary finds out … God, I don't even want to think about it! I told him he was fucking crazy, taking a risk like that …"

"Then why did you help him?" I interrupted sharply.

"Because … he's kinda hard to say _no _to? Besides, I thought he was getting out, getting away! I thought the two of you had planned it." He sighed. "He's been more like the old Justin again; he was getting his passion back, for his life as well as his music, and I thought it was because of you. And whether you believe it or not, I was happy to see it … because I'd do anything to get him away from Gary, even if it did mean that he ended up with you!"

I kept the smirk out of my voice. "Hey, nobody's talking wedding bells here. And I had no idea what he was up to until last night. But if it's any consolation, I thought he'd made the break, too, and I'd have liked to have kept things that way."

"Yeah? Well, at least I _tried_ to! I didn't realise he'd only got a one-night-stand in mind until after he'd called you, when he told me he'd see me at the _Starlight _this evening. And then you'd better believe I tried to talk him out of it!"

"I'm sure you did," I replied dryly. "But obviously not hard enough."

He huffed a frustrated breath. "Nothing short of knocking him out would have stopped him. I got him to agree to call me before he went back so that we could talk to Brad together, but he was obviously only saying that to shut me up. I just … I just wish I could understand, that's all. Not why he's got the hots for you – God knows I can't blame him for that – but what's going on with him. Why he won't just let this thing with Gary go!"

"He doesn't think he can." I ran a hand through my hair, unwilling to disclose more of Justin's business than he himself was prepared to reveal, but I figured the guy at least deserved some kind of explanation. "Look, Ethan, I can't tell you the particulars but you're right … Justin has a very good reason for letting Saperstein manage him. Let's just say he's trying to protect his family and leave it at that."

"Fuck, I knew it," Ethan whispered. "It's blackmail, right?"

"That's what I'd call it."

"Then why don't we tell the cops?"

"It's … complicated," I replied. "Justin doesn't see it that way, believe me. I was going to try and convince him to talk to a lawyer I know, so he could at least be sure of his legal position. But like I told you, I didn't get the chance."

"He probably wouldn't have listened anyway," Ethan sighed. "He's stubborn as a mule once he's made his mind up about something."

No shit. "I'm concerned about this Brad guy," I said. "Justin told me what happened at the _Starlight_ … how's Brad going to react to being given the slip?"

"That's why I wanted to go with him, so I could back up his story."

"Which was?"

"We were going to say that Justin had a panic attack during the stampede to get out. He was freaking and we couldn't find Brad in the crowd, so I let him crash at my place overnight."

"You think Brad would buy that?" I asked sceptically.

Ethan's laugh was bitter. "He wasn't first in line when brains were handed out, plus he thinks all gays are little pussy boys who faint at the first sign of trouble, so yeah, probably. But I'd have been happier if I'd gone with him … just in case."

"Maybe he didn't want you involved any more than you already were," I told him. Knowing Justin's protective streak, I was pretty sure that was the case. "I was going to call the penthouse and check he was okay, but I didn't know what he was planning and I didn't want to drop him in any more shit. Then I remembered he should be singing tonight, in which case you'd be able to let me know if he was alright."

"Oh … I see. Well, yeah; whenever he's cancelled before, someone's let the band know … otherwise Gary would have to pay us for turning up anyway."

"Fine. Unless I hear otherwise I'll assume you'll see him tonight - so if he cancels, or if he doesn't show, call me on my cell immediately."

"And what will you do?"

Good question. "Well, if Saperstein hasn't deleted me from the security system, I'll still have access to the penthouse."

"And what if he _has_ deleted you and you can't get in?"

"What is this, Twenty Fucking Questions?" I snapped. "Look, if Justin doesn't appear tonight I'll find this Brad guy and demand to see him. If he refuses, then as a last resort I'll call the cops … say Justin's being held against his will or something. If you back me up, they'll have to take it seriously. After that we'll have to wing it."

He laughed suddenly. "So we'll storm the tower and rescue the fair damsel together?"

"I wouldn't let Justin hear you call him that," I snorted. "I don't think he sees himself as Rapunzel, and I'm sure as fuck no Prince Charming … although the Sap could certainly qualify as the wicked witch."

"God knows he's ugly enough," Ethan chuckled. "Okay. We'll go with that. You want me to call you anyway, if I hear from him?"

"Of course. If I don't pick up, leave a message. I'll get straight back to you."

"Okay. I'll speak to you later, then … one way or the other."

I ended the call and pocketed my cell thoughtfully. I hadn't lied to Ethan: if I didn't get irrefutable evidence that Justin was in one piece, I was fully prepared to reach him by any method that presented itself, not excluding a sledgehammer. Sometime during the last few hours he'd progressed from being a kid I liked and was concerned for to someone I knew intimately – in both senses of the description – and the idea of his being in any kind of danger made my gut clench and my pulse speed up. The fact that I was even considering involving the cops – something I knew Justin would never forgive me for – only showed how far out of my comfort zone I'd fallen.

See, this was what happened when you broke your own rules. For the first time in my life I'd fucked someone I knew on a personal level, and it had turned out exactly the way I'd feared … I'd fucked _him_ instead of just his body, and now I was involved. I knew his name, I knew his history, I knew _him_ – and I wanted to know him again. I wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him … and most of all, I wanted him safe.

And to that end … I was going to have a little chat with Melanie.

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

_A.N._

_All lyrics in this story are from original unpublished songs, not written by me, alas ..._

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"Hey, Ben. Is Michael there?"

"Brian? No … hold on a moment, let me just take this pot off the heat…"

The phone was put down on a hard surface: I heard him clattering around in the background and wondered what kind of vegetarian nightmare he was in the process of cooking: it wasn't like I didn't understand and approve his determination to eat healthy, but all that Quorn and tofu shit were several steps too far.

He came back to the phone. "Sorry about that. I'm fixing lunch. No, Michael's on his way over to you."

"He is? Do we have something planned?"

"Well, you did last night. You were supposed to meet us at Babylon, remember?"

Ah. So I was … before I got side-tracked. "Something came up," I replied.

He chuckled. "That's what we thought. Michael tried to reach you this morning, but you were on another call."

"Yeah … I was talking for a while." Mikey must have rung while I was speaking to Ethan. "Look, Ben … you don't know if he still has Melanie's cell number, do you?"

"What … _Lindsay's _Mel?" he asked, sounding surprised.

I snorted. "Please don't tell me there's another one."

He laughed again. "That _would _be too much of a good thing, wouldn't it? But yes, I think so. She handled the sale of the comic store for him, and I know they've spoken since. Why? Do you have a problem?"

"No, I just want some legal advice for a friend of mine."

There was a pause, during which I was sure he was trying to identify someone other than Michael whom I might consider 'a friend' and whether or not he therefore had something to worry about. I smirked, not about to enlighten him.

"Don't worry, I'll ask him when he gets here. Sorry to have disturbed you."

"Not a problem," he replied, a little doubtfully. "Oh, and ask Michael to pick up a quart of natural yoghurt on his way home, would you?"

"Sure." I ended the call and stood pondering: I was rank enough to be able to smell myself and I needed a shower more than I wanted to think about, but Mikey couldn't be far away and I knew that I'd no sooner get myself under the spray before he'd be hammering on the door. As I debated whether to risk it anyway my eyes fell on the CD case Justin had left, still lying on the coffee table, and all thoughts of personal hygiene disappeared.

I don't know what I'd expected, really. The CD was a store-bought re-write, so I knew it wasn't likely to be one of _Sirius'_ recordings: the cardboard insert bore a handwritten list of what were presumably song titles, none of which I recognized. What I heard when I inserted the disc in the player was firstly a lilting acoustic guitar intro followed by Justin's unmistakable voice: he wasn't singing anything familiar and after a minute I realised I must be listening to one of his own compositions, the ones Ethan had referred to. I paused the disc, poured myself a glass of Beam, settled myself on the sofa and started the CD again.

_The moon casts its light on the ocean, the gentle surf breaks softly on the beach,_

_The stars shine like jewels in the heavens but like you, my love, they're far beyond my reach._

_I sit in the sand with a rifle in my hand, in this foreign land so far across the sea,_

_But remember I'll always love you, and Avalon is where I long to be._

I listened, surprised and impressed. Justin had obviously recorded the song himself, either before he'd moved in at the _Starlight _or perhaps during the early days when he'd still had access to the guest suite, so the quality wasn't the greatest. However, that in no way detracted from his ability: if he was playing as well as singing - and I had no reason to think he wasn't - then he was as accomplished a guitarist as Ethan had claimed, performing the intricate rolling pick with practised ease.

_The leaves at home will be falling – the sound of rustling footsteps in the street._

_The nights will be starting to draw in – my mind is full of memories like these._

_But I'm so far away, I live my life from day to day, never knowing what my future will be –_

_But remember I'll always love you, and Avalon is where I long to be._

_They say today we are moving; already I can see the morning light._

_I'm not too sure what we're proving or if what I am doing's wrong or right,_

_But forward I will go, and only God can know, cos he's the shaper of my destiny –_

_But remember I'll always love you, and Avalon is where I long to be._

_Yes, Avalon … that's where I long to be._

Like most people, my musical preferences had been formed by the bands I'd grown up with – bands like the Smiths, the Clash and RME - but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate other styles or recognize a great song when I heard one. This one was wholly original, beautiful both in its simplicity and its haunting imagery: a soldier, about to go into battle, his thoughts turning to what he'd left behind him. It could be set in any time or any war, and Justin managed to convey all the emotion of a young man facing death abroad, resigned to his fate but yearning for home, with simple dignity rather than mawkish sentimentality. I recalled reading how the classic British music show _The Old Grey Whistle Test _got its name: in the days of the Tin Pan Alley they would play a new song to one of the doormen – the Old Greys – and if he could whistle it after only hearing it once, they knew they had a hit on their hands. This song – unsurprisingly called _Avalon, _I noted – certainly ticked the box as far as I was concerned because, short as it was, it was memorable enough for me to have no doubt that I'd instantly recognize it if I ever heard it again. Music always had the power to affect me more than any other art form but I was still shaken to find myself actually swallowing a couple of times as the last chords died away: Brian Kinney moved by a love song? Either I was getting soft – and _soft_ wasn't a description I ever wanted applied to myself, not in _any_ way – or the kid really did have magic in his voice. Even though I was burning to hear the rest of the CD, I couldn't resist hitting replay and listening to the song again.

I'd just got to the end of the first verse when a double knock on the door announced Michael's arrival so I hurried to let him in, cursing under my breath at his interruption.

"Hey, asshole, where the hell did you get to?" he greeted me. His eyes took in my dishevelled appearance and he wrinkled his nose. "Jeeze, no need to ask. You smell like one of Ben's jock straps."

"He should be so lucky," I retorted, sliding the door closed behind him. "I just called you … your hubby said you were coming over. And before I forget, would you pick up a quart of natural yoghurt on the way home, dear?"

Mikey rolled his eyes as he followed me over to the sofa, flopping beside me and then cocking his head at the sound of Justin's voice still coming from the speakers. "What's this? Doesn't sound like your usual taste."

"It's Justin. The kid you met at the Diner, remember? _Sirius_?"

"Yeah?" He listened with more attention and his eyes widened. "Wow. He _is_ good."

"He wrote it, too." I didn't know why it seemed important to tell Michael that fact or why I felt a strange warmth, like pride or some fucking thing, as I did so.

"Wow," he repeated. He gave me a sidelong glance and narrowed his eyes. "_Justin, _huh? I thought you weren't interested?"

I shrugged. "He was off limits then."

Mikey spluttered for a second. "Yeah, because he was jail-bait, and he still is! Jesus, Brian!"

I picked up the remote and turned off the CD, since I obviously wasn't going to be allowed to listen to it, and glared at him. "You're wrong, Michael, Justin is eighteen. Remember? Nice and legal. I was referring to my professional restraints at the time, which no longer apply."

He blinked at me, open-mouthed. "Meaning … what? You've _fucked _this kid? He's not even your type!"

The thing was, he was right. Justin wasn't my normal taste, not in any way, shape or form … other than the fact that he was physically perfect, and beautiful, and talented and smart and funny and brave … I was hardly going to admit any of that Lesbionic shit to Michael, though, so I just smirked at him. "He's hot. What more can I say?"

Mikey shook his head. "Well, I hope you made it clear to him you don't do repeats. Because don't blame me when he's hanging around after you, making puppy dog eyes and telling everyone how you've broken his wittle heart!"

Chance would be a fine thing. "I don't think you need worry about that eventuality, Mikey, and I don't need any advice about my sex-life from you. But there is one thing you can do for me … have you got Melanie's cell number?"

"Why the fuck would you want to know _that_?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

I sighed. "Because I want to speak to her?"

"Why?"

"Because I want her to carry my baby, why the fuck do you think? Christ, Michael! I want some legal advice, so just give me her goddamn number, already!" I rubbed my right temple where I could feel a headache beginning to build and wondered if other people's best friends so often caused such a detrimental effect, or if it was only Mikey.

His expression became concerned. "Legal advice? Are you in trouble, Brian?" He placed a worried hand on my knee.

"Why does everyone assume it's about me? It's about … someone else." I caught myself before the name slipped out, but Mikey picked up on it anyway.

"That kid?" He snorted. "It is, isn't it?"

"He's not 'that kid'," I found myself saying defensively. "He's Justin."

Mikey shrugged, his expression dismissive. "Whatever. Since when do you concern yourself with ex-tricks?"

"He wasn't a trick, Michael," I replied, my voice colder than I'd expected. "I know him. He's a friend."

"A _friend_?" he all but squawked. "But you don't fuck your friends…"

I could hear the hurt as well as the resentment in his voice and winced: after all, that was the argument I'd always used on him whenever he got too pushy - that we could never fuck because we were friends. It had somehow seemed kinder than the truth, which was that I could never fuck him because he was the brother I'd never had and to me it would be like committing incest. I reached out and clasped the back of his neck. "I didn't intend it to happen," I told him quietly. "But it did, and … well, I guess I'm worried about him. I want to help."

He gazed at me incredulously. "Are you trying to say you're … involved with him, or something?"

Was I? I had no idea, because I didn't even know what Justin wanted. The _Later_ on the CD case could imply that he was intending to hook up again, or it might simply mean _see you around, maybe_. I had no way of knowing. Besides … how the fuck was I supposed to answer a question like that when I'd never experienced being 'involved' with _anybody_?

"I wouldn't go so far as that," I replied honestly. "But … I like him, Mikey. I like him a lot."

"Wow." His voice was soft, his eyes still locked on my face. "You're serious, aren't you?" He shook his head disbelievingly and laughed a little. "I never thought I'd see the day. Wait until Ma finds out … she's gonna go off like a rocket."

"She is not, because you're not going to tell her," I told him grimly, taking a firm grip on his shoulders so that he knew I wasn't kidding around. "Michael, are you listening? Justin is in some really deep shit through no fault of his own, only he's too stubborn to admit he needs help. If he finds I've gone behind his back and discussed it with anyone else I don't believe he'll ever forgive me, but I'm willing to take the chance and talk to Mel because she's a lawyer and she's bound by confidentiality. Other than that, it's nobody's business, so please … as my friend, respect what I'm saying and keep that famous Novotny lip buttoned. Because if I hear one breath about this from any of the family, _I'll_ never forgive _you_."

He blinked a couple of times, his eyes round and hurt. "Okay," he agreed shakily. "I think you've made yourself pretty clear." He dropped his head and I realised with a pang of regret that things would probably never be quite the same between us again. "So what makes you think Mel would help you? She still blames you for not talking Lindsay out of marrying that French asshole."

"Among a million other things," I sighed. It was true. She'd even accused me of originally scuppering their relationship by refusing to father their child, thereby ensuring Lindsay would keep obsessing over me and conveniently forgetting that she'd been the one most set against the idea in the first place. "I'm hoping to convince her. After all, it's not me she'd be helping."

"Good luck with persuading her about _that_," he replied sourly, but he was already fumbling for his cell. He scrolled through to his contacts, still avoiding my gaze, and passed it over. "Here. It's your funeral, I guess."

"Yeah, it is." I keyed Mel's number into my own cell and handed Mikey's back to him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he mumbled, stuffing his cell back into his pocket and standing up. "Well, I guess I'll let you get on with it. I've got a date with a yoghurt. 'Bye, Brian." He began to walk towards the door, his head still down, his shoulders slumped.

I got to my feet and went after him. "Hey, Mikey…"

He didn't turn around but he stopped walking and let me come up to him. I put my arms around him and hugged him tight.

"Love you, Mikey. Always have, always will."

It was true. It just wasn't the way he wanted.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Brian," Melanie said, her tone as unwelcoming as her expression. She was dressed in jeans and a faded _University of Pittsburgh _sweatshirt, holding the door open with one hand and balancing a ginger-haired toddler on her right hip with the other. "I suppose you'd better come in."

I smiled at her. "Why, thank you Melanie. Hello, Abraham." I'd seen the child before, of course, most often with Lindsay: he had pale eyes and freckles and was usually grizzling about something, and I'd always found him remarkably unattractive even by normal baby standards. But then I supposed that was the risk you ran when you took a headlong plunge into the random gene pool, and I wondered what kind of hell the poor kid was destined to go through with looks like that and a name like Abraham to boot. I smiled at him in what I hoped was a winning manner, but he looked back as accusingly as if he could read my thoughts: his lip began to quiver, his eyes began to fill, and he buried his head in Melanie's shoulder with a wail.

Mel looked down at him with a softened expression, and pressed a gentle kiss to his head. "I'm afraid he's teething, so he's a little grumpy, aren't you, Abe?" She ushered me into the tiny apartment she was renting, and I looked round at a room strewn with legal books and baby paraphernalia. Melanie had never been much of a housewife. There was a baby pen in one corner and she deposited Abe in it, pressing a teething ring into his chubby fist which he immediately began to gnaw at with single-minded ferocity. I knew Linds was still breast-feeding – she'd virtually emptied the Diner one lunchtime, much to Debbie's amusement – and winced at the idea of those gnashing gums coming anywhere near a nipple of mine.

"I forgot you had joint custody," I said, clearing a space amongst the baby clothes on the couch and sitting down.

Mel snorted. "If you can call every other weekend joint custody." She began to fold the clothing I'd moved, making a pile on the coffee table instead. "Unlike Lindsay, I have to work full-time and I don't have the luxury of a stay-at-home husband to help out. Or rich parents who are only too delighted to contribute now that their little girl has finally come to her senses, kicked that obnoxious Lesbian bitch into touch, and found herself a man to marry. They didn't even complain about him being French!"

I pressed my lips together so she wouldn't see me smirking. "I take it she still hasn't confessed there's more to Guy than meets the eye?"

"Of course not!" Mel snapped, picking up the heap of clothes and relocating them to the dining table. "She's such a fucking cowardly hypocrite! She drags him over to their place every week so he can smooch her mother and smarm all over her father. They think the sun shines out of his scrawny Gallic ass!"

I so hoped I was there when they found out the truth, just to enjoy the expression on the Petersons' faces when they realised Linds had not only swapped a lesbian for a queer but that their new son-in-law had only married her in order to buck deportation. It couldn't happen to a more deserving couple.

"She thought I was just going to give Abe up without a fight, even though I'm his legal parent every bit as much as she is," Mel continued, throwing herself into the armchair opposite. "She forgot that I was the one who really wanted a child in the first place. No fucking way was I going to abandon Abe to be raised by those two idiots!"

"Still, it can't be easy," I said, trying to be sympathetic.

"Like you'd know!" she shot at me angrily. "It takes commitment to be a parent, and selflessness, and dedication! Hardly your most conspicuous qualities, except for when it comes to getting your dick serviced!"

"I never denied it," I replied equably. "Lindsay was the one set on me being a father, remember? Don't blame me if she was delusional enough to believe it would have changed anything."

"It might have. At least she would finally have gotten what she wanted, so perhaps she might have been able to focus on _me_ for more than five minutes!"

"From what I heard, _you_ were the one messing around," I reminded her.

"Once. That's all, fucking _once._ And that was only because we hadn't had sex in like, forever. She was always too tired, or she had a headache, or she had the house full of other new mommies all comparing notes on fucking diaper rash!"

I shrugged. "What else did you expect? You have kids, that's part of the deal. Or did you think Lesbians did it differently?"

Her eyes blazed at me. "Fuck you, Kinney! I know I screwed up! I just didn't think she'd let go so easily, without even trying to fight for us! I thought she'd at least give me another chance, for Abe's sake if nothing else. I bet she would have, if _you'd _been his father! Then he might have meant enough for her to want him to grow up in a stable family, instead of the farce he's living in right now!"

Abe, obviously alarmed by the rising tone of her voice, clambered to his feet and began to wail again. Mel hurried over to retrieve him and I watched as she rocked him, making soothing noises as she did so. "It's okay, Sweetie. Mommy's not angry." She threw me a hard glance over her shoulder. "I think you'd better go, Brian."

I got up and went to stand next to her. "Mel, I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Ha! Name _one_ occasion that you and I have managed to be in the same room for five fucking minutes without fighting!"

I held my hands up, palms outwards. "Granted, we don't have a good track record. But that was only because of Lindsay."

"How do you figure that?"

"Come on, Mel, you loathed me from the moment you met me and there was no way you wanted me to father Lindsay's child. You wanna tell me why?"

"Because you're an arrogant, narcissistic asshole with the morals of an alley cat?"

I stuck my tongue in my cheek. "Apart from that. You knew Lindsay always had a secret dream about the two of us ending up together, and getting me to father her child was just another part of her little fantasy. You didn't want me to have any place in your Muncher Paradise, and you knew very well that's exactly what would have happened if Lindsay had got her way."

"She only wanted you as the donor," Mel objected, sticking out her jaw stubbornly. "She never expected you to have anything to do with rearing the child."

I rolled my eyes. "If you believe that, then _you're_ the one who's being delusional. It would have been, _Oh, Brian, the baby needs new shoes. Oh, Brian, we need a babysitter. Oh, Brian, we want him to take piano lessons but they're sooo expensive! _ I'd have never heard the fucking end of it and neither would you, and it would have driven you bugshit. The two of you stood a far better chance of staying together without seeing _my _face every time you looked at your kid."

Mel shook her head. "Don't give me that altruistic bullshit. If you cared about Linds and me being together you'd have stopped her marrying that slimy Frog!"

"And how would I have done that, other than grassing her up to Immigration? She's never really forgiven me for turning her down in the first place so she sure as hell wouldn't take my advice anymore … if she ever did. But you're right. I wouldn't have interfered even if I could, any more than I did when the two of you tied the knot. You were adults: you had the same right as any breeder to make yourselves miserable. Now you have to live with the consequences, and work out your own shit."

Her eyes hardened and I half expected her to kick my flat ass straight out the door. But Melanie was nothing if not honest, and after a moment she chuckled. "Kinney, the one thing I always begrudgingly admire about you is the way you speak your mind, no matter how fucked up that mind might be."

I grinned back at her. "Well, if you want the truth, try this: I refused Lindsay because I wouldn't be responsible for cursing any innocent kid with the genes of my fucked up family. So remember the spawn of Satan my sister produced, and think yourself lucky I have at least _that _much scruple."

Mel snorted. "Yeah, I'd have been checking for the 666 birthmark, that's for sure." She looked down fondly at the small ginger head lying against her shoulder. "Anyway, how could I ever wish Abe had a different father? He's absolutely perfect just the way he is."

I could tell that she meant it, from the tone of her voice as much as her expression. Whatever this tiny scrap of humanity grew up to be, whatever his frailties, Melanie would always be right there behind him: protecting, encouraging, and loving, just the way Debbie was for Michael. Mother love, I guessed they called it.

Not something I had any personal experience of, really.

* * *

I told her the whole story, omitting nothing but the names: somehow I felt that if I kept it anonymous then I hadn't completely betrayed Justin's confidence. Mel sat across from me, Abe asleep in her lap, occasionally asking for clarification of some point, and her expression changed from puzzled to scandalized, from anger to gravity as the tale went on. Eventually she just stared at me.

"Christ, Brian. Please tell me you're shitting me." Then she shook her head. "No, of course you're not. Why would you?" Carefully she rose to her feet, still cradling the sleeping child, and walked away towards a door on the far side of the room, through which she disappeared. A few minutes later she returned alone. "I've put him to bed," she said. "Now for God's sake give me a cigarette."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Linds made me quit when Abe was born," Mel explained. "But right now I could do with one."

I pulled out the carton and offered it to her before taking one myself. I lit them both and watched as she drew the smoke deep into her lungs, closing her eyes in ecstasy. "Oh, that is so good," she moaned.

"So what do you think?" I asked as she re-seated herself, her legs tucked underneath her.

"That there are some people on this planet who should never be allowed to have children?"

I smirked at her. "I think we've already agreed on that point. But in this case? What's the legal situation?"

Mel reached over to the bureau beside her chair and dug out a glass ashtray from a drawer, placing it on the coffee table between us before answering. "As far as the father's concerned, he's in deep shit if the IRS find out. The fact that he's paid the money he owes doesn't mean anything: if he _was_ cooking his company's books he's guilty of embezzlement and that's all there is to it. If the IRS start digging they'll find out pretty damn quick that his income doesn't come close to covering his expenditure, so they'll run a full audit of his accounts to explain where the extra money's come from … and they'll find out, no doubt about it. A clever accountant might be able to make the figures _look _right, but there's never really any way he can completely cover his tracks. And yes, the chances are he'd go to jail, especially considering the way he bailed himself out. His best bet would be to come clean, admit he'd fucked up, and hope they'll be lenient."

I reached forward to tap ash into the ashtray. "Not a chance of that, I'm afraid. What about his wife's position?"

Melanie snorted. "A devoted wife and mother, bringing up a handicapped child, betrayed by her husband with his trollop of a secretary? There isn't a judge in the land who wouldn't find in her favour and under normal circumstances she could take the bastard for every cent he has."

I raised an eyebrow. "Meaning these aren't normal."

"Unfortunately, no." She sighed. "Brian, I'm only working on what you've told me. Without knowing the facts from all parties, I can't give you any absolutes. But if this man were to go to jail and his company folded or was sold, then any assets would firstly be used for paying creditors, from the Government down. If, as you say, the house is heavily mortgaged and is in his name, as seems likely, then it may be forfeit too. There might not be much left for the wife – especially if she has large medical insurance premiums to pay for the child."

Fuck. It sounded as if Justin hadn't been overdramatizing his family's situation. I chewed my thumbnail absently.

"As to your 'friend'" – she gave me a quick, knowing look from her sharp eyes – "you say he's eighteen?"

"Yeah."

"Unfortunate. If he were a year younger he'd still be legally a minor, but as it stands the law says he's capable of making his own decisions."

"But he's being fucking blackmailed!" I snapped.

Mel threw her hands up. "Of course he is! He's being manipulated emotionally and abused physically, and I have no doubt he could file a suit against both his father and his manager. But Brian, blackmail cases – like rapes – are often the hardest to prosecute because the victims very often refuse to give evidence. All the time your friend is insisting he's acting of his own free will, I don't see there's much anyone can do legally to help him."

"Jesus Christ!" I leaped to my feet and began pacing. "So that's the best advice you can come up with? Just walk away and forget about it? What if Sa… what if his manager ends up fucking killing him, and I let it happen?"

"No, I'm not saying that," Mel replied in her patient voice. "My advice to you would be to persuade him that he can't mend this, that sooner or later his father is

going to get caught, and that his best option is to go to the police before his situation gets any worse."

"I've tried that. He's a stubborn little shit." I didn't sound anywhere near as accusing as I'd wanted.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?" I turned towards her: she was watching me with a half smile.

"Why are you concerned? Who is this kid to you?"

"I told you. Someone I met through _Vangard._ He told me his story … and it just didn't seem right, that's all. I wanted to find out if there was anything I could do to help."

"Please." She stubbed out her cigarette and leaned forward, eyes on my face. "You don't get involved with _anybody's_ problems, except Michael's. So why would you be getting so worked up about some teenager you've only just met?"

I glared at her. "I am _not_ worked up."

Mel threw back her head and laughed. "Not much, you're not! I've got to admit, I'd like to meet the young man who's capable of tying the Great God Kinney's thong in a knot!"

"Fuck you." I crossed to the coffee table, ditched my butt and headed for the door, furious at her. Fucking dykes! I should have known better than to come to her for help, should have known that all she'd do was to turn the situation into a joke at my expense.

"Brian, wait." I felt her hand on my arm and paused, turning back towards her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed. You just … kind of took me by surprise, I guess. I haven't met this Brian Kinney … I'm only used to the _I-don't-care-so-fuck-'em-all_ version."

She looked genuinely contrite, but I was still pissed. "It's okay," I said gruffly, pulling my arm out of her grasp. "Thanks for your time."

"Hey, I meant what I said, asshole," Mel insisted. "And to prove it, if you _do _manage to persuade your friend to come to his senses and press charges, then I'll be happy to represent him. _Pro Bono, _of course." She stuck her hand out.

I looked down at her small, determined figure and found my anger draining away. Whatever image she had of me was of my own making, and I had no right to resent her for seeing nothing else. I'd certainly never given her any reason to believe I might be capable of actually giving a damn … I wasn't so sure I believed it myself. And I had no doubt at all that she'd fight Justin's corner better than anyone else I knew. In the end, that was the only thing that mattered.

"I'll hold you to it," I told her gravely, shaking her hand.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"What's up, kiddo?" Debbie asked as she refilled my cup with the vile brew she fondly called coffee. "You feeling okay?"

I added enough sugar to kill the taste and stirred it moodily. "Deb, I'm fine."

"Well, you sure don't look it. Are you running a fever?" She'd laid a hand on my forehead before I could pull away. "Too many late nights, that's your problem. You're not fucking twenty-something anymore, and you're gonna have to accept you've got to start taking care of your body. Otherwise you're not gonna be Forever Young for much longer, no matter what my idiot son tells you."

"Christ, Deb, leave it alone, would you?" I glared at her. "I told you, I'm peachy. I've just got a problem I need to work out … believe it or not, I _do_ have a life outside Babylon and this shit-hole."

Deb raised her eyebrows and popped her gum. "Since fucking when?"

I sighed. Why did I ever think coming here was a good idea? Oh, yeah, because I hadn't heard anything from Ethan and spending a couple of hours at the Diner had seemed preferable to wearing out the Loft's flooring while I waited for the phone to ring. Unfortunately I hadn't taken Deb's unerring Mom instincts into account, or her pit-bull tenacity once she got her nose into something.

"Well, you know what they say, _a problem shared is a problem halved._ I'm all ears, kiddo."

"Thanks, Deb, I'll bear it in mind." I avoided her curious gaze, picked up my coffee and retreated to one of the booths, where I pulled out my cell and dialled Ethan's number. He picked up immediately.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Any news from Justin yet?"

"No. But I think that's a good sign, because I'd have probably heard by now if he was going to cancel."

"Let's hope so." I took a sip of coffee and grimaced; I could still taste it. "What time are you due at the _Starlight_?" I asked, adding yet more sugar.

"We start at nine, so most nights I'm there by eight. He doesn't usually appear until just before he's on stage, but I'll try and have a word with him."

"Whether you speak to him or not, you call me as soon as you know he's okay. You got that?"

I could almost see him rolling his eyes. "Of course … you've only told me, like, twenty times."

"Well, make sure you do it, then," I snapped, ending the call. I turned my head to see Debbie standing a few paces away, her hands planted on her hips, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"So who's this _he_ who might not be okay?" she demanded.

"Christ, Deb! Which part of _private conversation_ don't you understand?"

"All of it, when it concerns the welfare of one of my boys."

I raised my eyebrows. "Who says it does?"

"Come on, kiddo, I know you." She slid her butt onto the seat opposite, concern written all over her face. "The last time I saw you this preoccupied was when Michael was with David and wouldn't talk to you. So is there a problem between him and Ben that I should be aware of?"

"No, Deb. Everything is perfect in Happy Homo Land."

"Hm. Who the fuck _are _you worrying about, then?"

"_Whom _the fuck," I corrected automatically.

"Don't change the subject, smartass. I heard the way you were talking … what's going on, Brian?"

At that point the bell pinged, and I looked up to see Emmett and Ted coming through the door. Quite honestly, I'd never been so glad to see either of them. I hurriedly jumped to my feet, banging my knee painfully on the table leg in the process.

"Emmy-Lou … Theodore … I think Deb here wants to speak to you. Bye, boys." I pushed past them and beat a rapid retreat out of the Diner, knowing she could grill them to her heart's content without being any the wiser.

Ah well, what else were friends for?

* * *

Ethan's call came shortly before nine o'clock, saying that Justin was at the _Starlight_, that he looked fine – cheerful, even – and that Brad, although in attendance, seemed to be keeping his distance. To say I was relieved was an understatement, so after instructing Ethan to call me on my cell if there were any further developments, I showered, put on my club clothes and headed to _Babylon _for a little stress release. I'd barely made it to the bar before I was pounced on by Emmett, flouncing in purple.

"What the hell did you say to Debbie, Brian?" he asked, his voice rising accusingly.

I gave him an innocent look. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, she's surely got a bee in her bonnet about _something. _She seems to think one of us has got a problem, and _you_ know who it is."

I shrugged casually, my eyes on a hot brunette down the bar. "Don't blame me because Debbie's a drama queen. If there isn't a crisis going on she'll invent one, you know that."

"I'd say from the way you hustled out of there that she was on to something."

"Well, you'd be wrong." The brunette was staring openly at me: he gave a little jerk of his head in the Back Room's direction, lifting his eyebrows questioningly, so I nodded and put my drink down on the bar. "Now make yourself useful and watch this for ten minutes," I told Emmett, ignoring his protests as I went to collect my trick.

When I emerged from the Back Room a while later I saw Emmett had been joined by Mikey and Ben. "Mikey!" I exclaimed, throwing an arm around him and kissing his cheek. "Clubbing two Saturdays on the trot? How debauched of you!"

"Fuck you, asshole!" he replied, elbowing me in the ribs. "What's all this about you upsetting Ma? She was on the phone for an hour, giving me the third degree about some 'trouble' she thinks I'm in. What have you been telling her?"

Fortunately I didn't have to come up with an answer, because Mo, one of the doormen, appeared beside me. "Hey, Kinney," he said, "There's some kid outside asking for you."

We all stared at him. "Some kid?" I repeated.

"Yeah. He tried to get in, but he hasn't got a member's card or even any ID. He said you'd vouch for him."

"What's he look like?" I asked, although I had a damn good idea.

"Blond, blue eyes. Cute little fucker, otherwise I'd have told him to take a hike," Mo replied, rumbling with amusement. "I'd have said he was kinda young for you, though."

I was striding towards the exit in a second, leaving my friends gaping in my wake. Justin was standing impatiently on the sidewalk, dressed in his slinky black stage outfit, his expression both hopeful and pissed off: it brightened into a full wattage smile when he saw me.

"Hey," I said, feeling a warm rush of pleasure as I walked over and pulled him into a hug. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course," he replied as if it were obvious. "Ethan said you'd be here and he gave me the cab fare. But they wouldn't let me in." He threw a dirty look at Mo, who had followed me back out.

"Well, that's because you look so young for your twenty-one years," I replied, winking at Mo. "How have you given Brad the slip this time?" I ran my hands down his back, relishing the warmth of his skin through the sheer silk fabric.

He laughed. "Brad and I have an understanding: he'll leave me alone – which he's more than ecstatic to do - and I won't blab to Gary about how he abandoned me in the stampede last night. I spoke to Gary earlier – he's still pretty doped up – so as long as I'm there when he calls tomorrow, everything's cool. So you see…" - he went up on tiptoe to press a kiss on my chin – "I'm yours for the night. The whoooole night."

I didn't know whether to slap him or kiss him. "You're an incorrigible little twat, you know that?" I asked, bending my head to find his lips.

"Mhm. Are you complaining?"

I shook my head. I wasn't. All I cared about at that moment was that he was here, warm and safe; I'd worry about the rest of it later.

I slung my arm around his shoulders and led him towards the door. "He's with me," I told Mo.

"Yeah. I kinda figured."

I ignored his smirk and glanced down at Justin. "Before I forget, thank you for the CD."

"Have you listened to it?" He looked up at me shyly. "Did you like it?"

"It was alright." I saw the disappointment in his eyes and grinned, poking at his waist and making him squeak. "It was fucking brilliant. You're incredibly talented, you know that?" His face lit up, but before he could reply I pushed open the door and the wall of noise drowned out all other thought. Justin stopped dead, his blue eyes widening as he took in the sight before him.

"Oh my God, Brian!" His mouth hung open as he stared around. "This is … incredible!"

"It is, isn't it? Welcome to _Babylon_, Sunshine." I let him soak up the atmosphere for a minute before taking his hand and heading for the bar, raising my voice above the deafening beat. "Now, stick with me, okay? Don't wander off by yourself. And don't take anything from anyone … not pills, not drinks. Got it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Christ, Brian, I'm not a kid. I can look after myself."

"Not in here, you can't. Now do as I say, or I'll have to take you home."

His eyes twinkled. "I was hoping you would, anyway."

"Then you'd better behave yourself." I led him over to where my friends were watching our approach, smirking at the varying expressions on their faces: Ben looked amused and Mikey irritated; Ted, who had appeared from somewhere, was watching open-mouthed while Emmett was jumping up and down, clapping his hands in delight..

"Baby!" he squealed. "Omigod, where _did _you get that outfit? It's _fabulous! _Is it silk?" He reached out to run his fingers down Justin's sleeve, so I batted his hand away and glared at him.

"Yeah, I guess," Justin replied, shrugging a little indifferently. "It's just my stage clothes."

Ted gulped, his eyes riveted on the pale sliver of smooth chest that Justin was displaying. "Well, it's very fetching. Very flattering. Not that you need it, of course. Flattering, I mean." He took a hasty swallow of beer, spilling some down his shirt in the process.

"Aren't you kind of young to be in here?" Mikey's tone was accusing.

"Come on, Mikey, lighten up," I told him, pinching his cheek. "We were using false ID's to get in here when we were younger than him, remember?"

Michael bristled, and Ben laid a heavy arm across his shoulders. "Let me get you a drink, Sirius," he offered. Michael scowled, but said nothing.

"I'd love a beer, Ben, thanks," Justin replied, favouring him with one of his smiles, which only made Mikey's expression turn even sourer. I leaned down to speak into Justin's ear.

"Just gonna take a piss, Sunshine. Don't go away."

"I'm not planning to," he assured me.

I made my way to the washroom, relieved myself, declined two offers of blow-jobs while I was washing my hands and stopped to score an ounce of Columbian from Anita on the way back. When I arrived at the bar I found Ted and Emmett had decamped to the dance floor, and Mikey and Justin were glaring at each other while Ben looked on uncomfortably.

"What's going on, girls?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Nothing," Mikey snapped, his face flushed.

"Don't give me that … you two look like a couple of fighting cocks, and not in a good way."

"I was just making sure he knew what he was getting into," Michael replied, frowning at me.

"And _I_ was making the point that it's none of his goddamn business," Justin retorted.

"Which it isn't," Ben agreed equably. "What?" he asked, as Mikey swung round on him. "Sirius is right, Michael. I'm sorry, but you don't have the right to comment."

"Like fuck I don't!" Mikey snapped, banging his glass down on the bar and storming off into the crowd.

Ben sighed. "I'll go and straighten him out," he said. "I'll see you guys later."

I looked at Justin. His lips were pressed together angrily. "I'm sorry," I told him. "It's just that he's my…"

"Bestest best friend. Yeah, I got that."

"Well, he is. It makes him a little over protective sometimes."

"Actually, he wasn't being 'protective' at all. He was telling me how you didn't do boyfriends, or even seconds, and how you were probably off fucking someone else in the washroom."

"He was very nearly right," I said, tongue in my cheek. "I'm not going to pretend, Sunshine. Everything he told you was very probably true: most people think I've redefined the word 'promiscuity'." I reached out to run my hand through his beautiful hair. "Does it make a difference?"

He opened his eyes very wide. "To what? Me wanting you to fuck me? Why would it? I never thought you were a monk, Brian! But what gives that little twerp the right to assume there's anything going on between us anyway?"

Well, that answer didn't please me as much as it should have, although I couldn't help but smile at his description of my bestest friend. "Listen, he's not used to seeing me with someone else. I don't _talk_ to the tricks I fuck, Sunshine, and I don't hang out with them. He's a little jealous, I guess."

His brows drew together. "Of you? Why? Are you fucking him too, even though he's with that gorgeous hunk?" He laughed suddenly. "Wow, total respect! How does someone like that manage to hook the two hottest guys in Pittsburgh? What's his secret? Drugs or mind-control?"

Okay, I might be able to diss Michael but I was fucked if I'd let anyone else do it. "Hey," I told him sharply. "Michael's not exactly a troll. Plus, he happens to be the sweetest, kindest guy I know, so don't get on his case, Sunshine."

We locked gazes for a moment, and I saw that old wariness seep back into his face – a look I hadn't seen for while. "I'm sorry, Brian," he replied at last, his voice casually cool. "I didn't come here to cause trouble between you and your friends. Maybe I'd better go back to Ethan's for the night. I've got enough money left for the fare." He put his beer down on the bar and reached up to kiss my cheek. "Later," he said.

I watched disbelievingly as he moved away from me, a graceful black figure amongst the semi-clad men surrounding him. Whathefuck? I waited, sure that he would stop or at least look behind him, but he kept going and it eventually dawned on me that he was actually leaving. Not good, not good. All I could think of was how happy he'd looked when he'd first stepped into _Babylon _and how I wanted to keep it that way. My feet started moving and before I knew it I was pushing through the crowd, elbowing bodies aside until I caught up to him. "Hey! Hold up a minute!" I grabbed his slender wrist, halting his escape, making him turn towards me.

"What, Brian?" His face was still closed and impassive.

"There's nothing between Mikey and me, okay? There never has been and there never will be."

He blinked. "And what's that to me? Do you think _I'm _jealous of _him? _ We fucked, but that doesn't meanI own you, Brian: I don't have any part in your life, and you sure as hell don't have to explain anything to me." He tried to pull out of my grip but I held on tight.

Christ, he was so frustrating! There he stood, the most fuckable guy I knew, and hearing my own philosophy coming out of his mouth should have had me turning cartwheels of joy at finally meeting someone who had as practical a view of a 'relationship' as I did. But in that moment I wanted to explain to him, wanted him to know, to know it all_ …_ not just about the clubbing and the tricking but about Jack and Joanie, and Michael and Deb, about college and Linds and _Ryders _and _Vangard_ and every fucking thing that had ever happened to me. He was right, he might not be a part of my life … but I was pretty damn certain I _wanted_ him to be.

"Look," he was saying, "this isn't a problem, really. I shouldn't have just turned up here expecting you to want to see me. Maybe I can get away again before Gary comes home, if you want to hook up again … I'll try and give you a call, okay? You go back to your friends."

I linked my hands behind his neck, pressing our foreheads together. "I can see my friends anytime. And if I hadn't wanted you to be here, I'd have just left you freezing your ass off outside, wouldn't I? Now, how about we rewind to the moment we came in, only this time we cut the meet-and-greet and you dance with me instead?"

He blinked at me. "Dance with you?"

"Yeah. You know…" I pressed myself closer to him, letting my thigh rub against his crotch as I undulated my hips. "You go out there on the dance floor and wiggle about? You've done it before, I've seen you."

He bit his bottom lip as though he were trying not to smile: I really, really wanted to suck it. "Well, I'd love to oblige. But somehow I don't think my knee's up to all this thumpa-thumpa."

"That can be remedied, Sunshine." I kept hold of his hand and towed him across the club to where Jez, the DJ, had his desk set-up. "Hey, man!" I tugged at his sleeve to get his attention and he took off his earphones, looking at me enquiringly.

"Can you play something a little slower?"

His gaze flicked from me to Justin and his eyebrows shot up. Then he grinned.

"Sure, Brian. I got just the thing." He ran his eyes lasciviously over Justin again before leaning closer. "Oh, and if you're in the mood for a threesome tonight…"

"Sorry, Jez. I'll have to owe you." I smirked at his disappointed expression and turned back to Justin as Bowie's unmistakable intro blared out of the sound system. I led him onto the dance floor, took his left hand in my right, placed my left hand on his right hip and just let the rhythm take over.

_Let's dance, put on your red shoes and dance the blues_

_Let's dance to the song they're playing on the radio_

_Let's sway while colour lights up your face_

_Let's sway, sway through the crowd to an empty space._

I'm not a good dancer, never have been. But somehow with Justin, my feet seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to do and he followed my movements effortlessly, his hips swaying sensuously beneath my fingers, his lithe body warm and pliant against me. I was dimly aware of the other dancers giving way, moving back to give us room, forming a circle of appreciative spectators.

_If you say run, I'll run with you_

_If you say hide, we'll hide_

_Because my love for you_

_Would break my heart in two_

_If you should fall into my arms_

_And tremble like a flower._

"Is that what you want?" Justin asked, laughing up at me. "Do you want me to tremble?"

"You did last night," I breathed against his cheek, intoxicated by the touch and the scent of him, by the way the shifting multi-coloured lights played across his skin and hair. My dick was rock hard inside my jeans, aching for him. Didn't do seconds? Like fuck.

_Let's dance for fear your grace should fall_

_Let's dance for fear tonight is all._

_Let's sway you could look into my eyes_

_Let's sway under the moonlight, this serious moonlight._

The glitter began to sift down, spangling his shoulders with gold. I spun him round and then dipped him backwards low enough for the ends of his hair to brush the floor, exulting in the way he relaxed in my grip, trusting me not to drop him.

_If you say run, I'll run with you_

_If you say hide, we'll hide_

_Because my love for you would break my heart in two_

_If you would fall into my arms and tremble like a flower._

"Let's go, Sunshine," I whispered into his ear. "We have some trembling to do."

TBC


End file.
